February 15, 2010

The runner, the Hen and the Baby

- "boc, boc, boc, I am the Mother Hen" says Martin in an impersonation of, well, me, as we are having lunch.
I look at him, my mouth start quivering, and I burst into tears.

I miss my baby boy. He is in day-care today, while I am job hunting.

He is in day-care, and I miss him so much it is aching.

Not that he seems unhappy there. Not, not at all. Unless babbling and smiling away is a sign of unhappiness. No, nothing wrong with him. It is just me. Aching, and bursting into tears at the sound of a mother hen.

What, is it me talking? Like, the "me" who, only a few days before we produced Malo, was actually still wondering whether she had it in her to be a mother. The "me" who was convinced she herself had been produced without maternal instinct, whathever that meant, because I had no idea.

- " Hard to believe you were actually not that long ago wondering whether you would be able to love him enough", Martin carries on as I, briefly, stop crying. If asked, I would obviously vehemently deny having ever had such an inadmissible thought, but the fact and the matter is, I did.

Pregnancy was OK. I mean, I didn't especially like looking like a whale, - a small one, though, as Martin would always kindly remind me - but I managed to stay active, and therefore sane . Or at least as sane as I could be expected to be, which may not be saying much.

Throughout these nine months, I carried on running, cycling, hiking, swimming, in a nutshell doing all this "ing" things for which we had moved away from London and into the Alps. I even surprised myself being able to cope (and, sometimes, oh surprise, even enjoy) doing sports in a chilled, as opposed to it-does-not-have-to-be-fun-to-be-fun way. Sure, it was sometimes rather frustrating to have to hold back, especially when Martin was triathlon training, and, for the first time, doing his runs faster than me (how did he dare). I also enjoyed beyond saying feeling the "Petite Boule" kicking inside my belly, and not only because that gave me hope these early manifestations of intense activity were the sign of a future athlete in the making.

So there I was, a, on the whole, pretty happy pregnant chick. Pretty happy, but also super scared. What would our life be after his arrival? Somehow, I had the feeling, since then confirmed, that there would not be a lot of night departures to the nearby peak because we feel like a mountain run in the snow, the cold, and the dark. Or last minute decision to go for a 100 -mile bike ride. Or, or , or... And it scared me to death that I might resent my baby for preventing us from doing all this stuff.

But here I am, 6 months after he was born, sitting in my kitchen and crying out all the tears in my body because he is in day-care and I miss him.

Sure, life has changed. Sure, there is no more midnight runs or last-minute 100-milers. But we're still doing plenty of our beloved "ing things". Just differently. We take turns. I devise cute strategies so that my turn comes back more often that Martin's. We plan runs and rides around breast-feeding times. We've discovered the Holy Graal, which goes by the name of Chariot, and going running with the little one provides the double whammy of a harder work-out pushing the stroller and the joy of seeing him laugh when he realises we're getting ready for a run.

And there are all these other things which have nothing to do with sports, sweat, or pain, and yet are - and now, this is a surprise - so much, SO MUCH fun. Witnessing Malo's first smile. That, too, made me cry, proof I guess that Mrs Mother Hen, aka me, is becoming emotional with no hope of redemption. Singing him songs which remind me of my own childhood. Changing nappies (yes, this is fun, too). Getting the bathroom wet from floor to ceiling while playing in the bathtub. Getting peed on while giving him a baby massage (this one never fails). Or maybe are these so fun because they are "ing things", too?

Anyway, gotta stop now. The hell with day-care, the hell with trying to fit a short afternoon work-out: I miss my son and I am getting him back home. Right now.

Little Whale is gone, welcome The Hen.

February 11, 2010

Running around... but was that really what I meant?

Somehow I am not sure what follows is exactly what I meant when I chose the title for this blog. Because I may have run around a lot lately, but sadly, not of it actually involved anything of the putting-ones-running-shoes-on-and-getting-outside kind.

Oh, I have been busy all right, which I usually quite enjoy. But -call me negative if you want- this time round, I could have done with less action.

It started more than three weeks ago with Malo getting ill, one of the many perks of going to day care once a week. Then I caught his nose & throat infection,. Then a sinusitis. As if this was not enough, I was granted a few days later with a massive tooth infection, meaning no running, unless you include in the definition of running that of putting Malo in the car and rushing to the dentist five times in the last 10 days.

Wait, because this is not it.

Last week, the vision of my left eye suddenly got worse. I was told to run (not literally I suspected) to ER by my MD, so I did, but not before making sure Martin could not get jealous of all this activity and having him sprint home to look after Malo.
The ER doctor diagnosed me with yet another infection.
- "And are you sure your right eye does not hurt? because this one is infected, too", he said , sounding quite chuffed at the news he had discovered more than what I came for in the first place.
I had to go back to hospital on the following day, and will have to go back next week. The fact that the appointment will be right at the time when Malo should be, first sleeping, then fed, and that, as last time, I am bound to have to wait for a couple of hours before beeing seen, will no doubt add to the fun.

In the meantime, and in case I was worried of getting a bit restless, I am looking for a job. Which means going to interviews - ideal right after a tooth extraction - and writing CVs, letters and surfing the web - just what the doctor recommends when you're half blind from an eye infection. Maybe should I just stop the job hunt and open a pharmacy: with all the drugs I have recently been prescribed, I surely would already have the level of stock required to get in business.

So I have indeed been running around. Which made me discover one thing: I am a big liar, and when I was saying I love any type of running, this was simply NOT true.

Looking (with the right eye, as the other one can't see a thing) on the bright side, maybe is it better I cannot run, let alone race: all the s*** I am taking would make me test positive at any race's drug test, which hardly seems like the best way to start my running "career" again.

And, since I am feeling cheerful, the second good news is that, when the time comes and I can train again... I am ready!: my Polar came back, and it is working. Whether, after 3 weeks of inactivity, the log-book will tell me anything I want to hear, is another story...