EverAfterLand

A Squishy Mound Of Goo - A Diastasis Recti Story, Part 2

"Ohmygosh," I remarked to my husband, "it feels like just a hole.  There's nothing underneath."

I was laying on the carpet in a semi-crunch position, checking my diastasis recti a few months after delivering Baby #2.

The gap was wider than I had expected it to be.  Three fingers wide, which, now that I know I had been using the incorrect form (shoulders should stay on the ground) the gap was probably more like a four.  Not only did my stomach feel like a mushy mound of goo, I was horrified at the feeling of nothingness that existed inside that gap.  It felt like a bottomless chasm. 

What I later learned is that there's tissue that connects the two sides of the rectus abdominals (the upper layer of muscle or your "six-pack") right down the center called the linea alba.  As you can imagine, during pregnancy that tissue, along with the transverse abdominus, stretch to the max to make room for the little miracle setting up camp there.  That tissue, unfortunately, is not elastic.  So once it is stretched out, it can take time to return to a semblance of normal.  For many women with a diastasis recti and weakened transverse, that tissue never has a chance to rebuild.

In that moment, laying on the floor, it just felt weird.  Really, really weird.

Having given up on the Tupler Method book, subsequent Amazon searches helped me to find a new book.  Exercise After Pregnancy: How to Look and Feel Your Best, by Helene Byrne, was the book that made me feel confident that I could finally be diastasis-free!

The book starts off an easy-to-understand explanation of the anatomy of your abdominals - without scaring the snot out of you (like that other book). 

Then come three sets of exercises, starting with a sequence for beginners, then becoming progressively more difficult as strength improves.  The explanations for each exercise are a bit lengthy, but each move is accompanied with a series of photographs to help illustrate what you are supposed to do.

Of course, now I know that many of the exercises described in the book do not actually work your transverse in the best way.  Positions that instruct you to be on the floor on all fours, or want you to lay on your side or back are not the most beneficial for a weakened core.  I don't believe the moves would make a diastasis worse, but they're not necessarily making it any better.

I was oblivious to that information, though, all those three-odd years ago.  I used that book every other day, religiously, for months.  Eventually, I checked my diastasis again and, to my great relief, could easily feel the linea alba tissue underneath my fingertips.  I no longer had a bottomless chasm.

But I did still have a diastasis.  And it was hanging in there at around three fingers wide. 

The problem I had with the book was that I was unsure about when it was time to advance to the next level.  I didn't necessarily feel strong enough to move from beginner to intermediate, but after a month or so of the same exercises, it seemed like I should be moving on to something.

More importantly my tummy did not feel much firmer after months of half-hour core work every other day.

My search continued.....

The Space Between - Part 1, Discovering Diastasis Recti

"Stay on your back, and lift up your shoulders."

Um, OK, I thought, fumbling to accomplish the MidWife's request.

About to pop!

It was the end of 2006, and this was my 6-week Post-Partum Check-up after birthing our first baby, Miss Priss.  Weight and blood pressure and stitches were analyzed.  So far, everything was looking good!  And I had no idea what the heck this woman was doing, asking me to hang out in a half-situp and then poking her fingers in the squishy mound of belly hiding (not very well) under my shirt.

"Alright, your abdominal muscles are still separated," she informed me, "put your fingers here...can you feel that?"

I could feel that.  But I had no idea of the magnitude of what I was feeling.

"You'll want to keep an eye on that, in case it doesn't close."

I was tired.  Too sleep-deprived and rapidly engorging to care.  I needed to get home.  I needed to feed the baby.  And then I'd be putting her down for (what I hoped and prayed to be) a longer-than-twenty-minutes nap.  If my midwife had mentioned the words "Diastasis Recti," I didn't hear her.  And she knew we would be moving in another few weeks.  Watch it for what?  And what was I supposed to do about it, I was going to be living in a different part of the country?

It was a good long while before I had the energy to determine what was going on with my midsection.  By then, I had tried to return to my pre-baby shape through conventional modes of exercises.  Weight lifting, pilates, cardio machines, dance.  What I discovered was that I had lost a lot of my strength, not only in my abdominals, but over my entire body.  And "consistency," to me, was just a word in the dictionary.  I had a starving, rambunctious, barely napping baby, and she was my priority.  Exercise, in my mind, is just more work.  It's not the "Me Time" that so many fitness gurus keep advocating for new mommies to carve out for themselves.  I am simply not built that way.  If I had space for "Me Time," it was going to be spent either knitting or napping.  (Certainly NOT cleaning the house.  That would be nuts!)

First Day Home

I don't quite remember how I discovered the details of my condition.  I know I was frustrated.  It was 2008, over a year since popping out my princess, and my stomach was still pooching out.  Losing weight did not work.  I was skinnier all over, but I still had the waistline of someone 3 months pregnant, but with a big difference.  Instead of a wonderfully pregnant belly building new life, my abdominals felt weak and jiggly, with very little muscle tone. Mostly, though, I was depressed about how my body looked, the clothes I had to wear to hide my bulge, and the lack of function I had. 

Wanting desperately to find a fitness program that could whip me back into shape, I searched Amazon one night for workout books or videos that would be a good starting point for someone as out of shape as myself.  Through whatever word-search I had used (and the miracle of the internet) I landed on a book called Lose Your Mummy Tummy, by Julie Tupler**.  The description of the book listed the cause of a "mummy tummy" as the separation of the abdominal wall and gave it a name - Diastasis Recti. 

I zoomed to Julie Tupler's website and watched a video on how to check yourself for diastasis.  Following those directions (the same as the ones my midwife had instructed me) and pushing my fingers into my gut, I found that I had a 2 finger separation at my belly button.  I have recently learned to check for diastasis without lifting your shoulders off the floor (a move that causes the separation to close a bit, creating an inaccurate reading) so most likely, my separation was actually closer to a 3-finger width.

Finally, I knew what the problem was - and I had a name for it.  It was a relief to have an understanding of what had happened to my body.  I googled "diastasis recti," greedily searching for more information on how to correct this condition.

But there wasn't any.

Exhausted

The websites I found that would mention it were medical sites giving nothing more than a definition.  The few that offered help, offered it in the form of surgery.  Sewing the abdominals back together, they had said (and still say to this day), was the "only" way to repair it.

A handful of YouTube videos I came across claimed to have proper exercises for diastasis that were, according to what I had learned from the Tupler website, completely wrong.  Anyone with a separation should never perform crunches, oblique twists or planks.  One video in particular was a homemade recording of a young woman lying on her back, arms stretched out to either side, her legs straight up in the air, twisting her torso and swinging both outstretched legs to touch the floor on one side of her, raising them back up, then dropping them to the other side.

How could I possibly be strong enough to even DO that? I pondered.

I ordered the Mummy Tummy book from Amazon and then a corresponding video and splint (or belly wrap) from Tupler's website.  I wanted this separation gone.  And I was positive I had found the program that would magically heal everything.

The book arrived first, and I read it voraciously.  The book went into more detail about the anatomy of your abdominals, explaining that there are three main types.  The Rectus Abdominus (aka: the "six-pack muscles") on the top, Internal and External Obliques on the sides, and then, inside everything, the Transverse Abdominus (TA).  The Transverse is what holds all of those other abdominals into proper position, and the thing that Pilates instructors everywhere are referring to when they bark at you to "hold in your core."  Pregnancy stretches out this muscle, and, for too many women, leaves behind a diastasis recti when the muscle doesn't recover post-pregnancy.

Ooooh!  Okay!

Two Months After Baby

I zoomed through the ins and outs of what my diastasis is, where it came from, how NOT to make it worse, and an unsettling drawing of a paper bag, broken on the bottom with a uterus falling out.  This dire warning of what would happen to your organs if your pelvic floor continued to weaken was enough to make me attempt a few kegels right on the spot.

Finally, I arrived at the exercises, the basis of her Tupler Technique.  They seemed pretty simple.  First were the Elevators.  Sitting in a chair or on the floor against the couch, bring your belly button in slowly toward your spine, activating that TA muscle, hold for 30 seconds, then slowly let out.  Do ten sets every day.

10 sets?  Every day??  OK, I think I can make that work.  I sometimes can't even pull it together enough to shower, but these little sets seem doable.

The next exercises were the Contractions.  In that same seated position, bring your belly button back to your spine, and then release.  Repeat 100 times.

Wait, one HUNDRED times?

Five times a day.

FIVE TIMES A DAY!!!!

"Once you master the Seated Tupler Technique, you can continue to do the ... contractions until your child is eighteen years old!  You can also increase the number of exercises to ten sets of 100 per day.  I know it sounds like a lot, but if you do three sets of 100 in the morning (this should take ten minutes), four sets of 100 before lunch (thirteen minutes), and three sets of 100 in the evening (another ten minutes), it makes it easier to do ten sets per day.  That's not a lot of time when you realize that you are not only repairing your body but flattening that mummy tummy!"

OK, Crazy Lady.  I couldn't even manage to use the bathroom for three minutes without a little person crawling all over me, but sure, I'll set myself down and do a THOUSAND of these little pulses for the REST of my LIFE!  That sounds SUPER FUN!!! 

Still sporting a belly - over a year and a half later.

But the book was fraught with other problems, as well.  There were many other exercises listed, from stretches, to multiple sets of kegels, to 15 and 30 minute workout routines.  And she seemed to insist that everything was vitally important to the resuscitation of my core, and, therefore, must be done every. single. day.  I couldn't figure out what was most important to do, or in what order to do them, or if I needed to start with one thing and then progress to another. 

The video came and proved to be even more useless than the book.  The workout was painfully slow and not at all energizing or something that you ever had a desire to watch again, let alone use.  It was like having Fran Drescher instructing you on how to breath and keep your back straight.  The "workout" didn't feel like it was working anything at all, and even had pregnant women performing the exercises, they were so gentle and mind-numbing.

But the best part - really, the absolute BEST PART - was the inclusion of some sort of stage performance that looked like it had been written by, directed by and starred Julie Tupler.  It featured actors dressed in costume as many of your favorite bodily organs.  Including a vagina. 

They sang.

They danced.

I forced Hubby to sit down and watch the whole thing with me.  It was horrifying, yet oddly mesmerizing. 

And when it was all over, that DVD returned to its case, never to be heard from again.

I felt overwhelmed by the strict exercise regimen in the book, underwhelmed by the workouts on the video, and extremely confused by what a Dancing Vagina had to do with any of it.

Although I never followed any of the workouts to the letter, the Lose Your Mummy Tummy book still played a pivotal role on this Journey of Diastasis Recovery.  This was the first time I began to learn about the functioning roles of my abdominal muscles (didn't even realize there were so many!) and the importance of proper form.  From then on, I was always careful to hold that transverse abdominal in whenever I coughed, sneezed or blew my nose.  And I would try to do those "contractions" once in a while when I was driving in the car.

It was a start. 

I had gained the tools to (hopefully) refrain from making my diastasis any worse.  But I knew, somewhere out there, there had to be a better way to close the separation.

And I was hoping to figure it out soon.  Because Baby #2 was on her way!

 

**Although this post doubled as a book review of Lose Your Mummy Tummy, by Julie Tuppler, I did not include a link to the Amazon listing.  It is still for sale on Amazon, but the author has changed her program, no longer using several of the exercises she had originally prescribed.  I do not own anything from her new program, which can be found on her website, but if I ever do, I will be sure to post about it here at EverAfterLand. 

Not The First Time Around This Block

I think some of you are beginning to wonder if I'm taking this whole baby thing seriously.

Last week I ran off to the wineries for a day.

This week I've run off for three days at the coast.

With less than three weeks left, shouldn't I be home nesting?  Or sleeping?  Or rereading all those books we read the first time around?

I am excited about this baby coming, I swear!

But I think we can all agree that it's never quite the same as it had been the first time around.

When it all seemed so exciting and new and magical.

And, after months of preparation and dreaming and shopping and building, the baby finally arrived and the reality hit you that most of the "magic" kept materializing itself in the kid's diaper.  That you are tasked with 24 hour disposal of said "magic," as well as wet nurse, soother, dresser, bather, laundress, and quality children's entertainer. 

Nowhere in there do you actually feel like a "mom" to this sweet little blob.  At least not yet.  It takes a few months before you feel like a little more in the eyes of your child than just "that nice lady who feeds me."

Oh, but when that baby smiles in your general direction and then, dare I say it, smiles AGAIN with some glimmer of recognition - that's magic!  And when the word "mama" comes out of those sweet little baby lips - not the first time, cause the first time was probably a fluke, more like the second or third time - well then you don't just FEEL like a mom, you ARE a mom. The little bundle of waste management has acknowledged YOU as its mother. What a moment!

I am looking forward to all the exhaustive work and payoff of having this, our second child.

But for right now, I'm going to enjoy these last few moments of peace. Of feeling like I have some semblance of control over the chaos of my day. And the ability to shower at regular intervals.

Because, folks, life as we know it is about to change forever.

And this time I know exactly how.

(But for those still concerned that I may go into labor far away from home, let me assure you, other than his foresight to " pack a sham wow in case your water breaks," Hubster has also brought along the "What to Expect When You're Expecting," a book with a whole section on how to give birth by yourself. What can I say, those Navy guys are trained to be prepared for ANYTHING!)

Be Thankful This Thing Doesn't Have Smellivision

So I'm pregnant, right?  But, then, you maybe already knew that, what with the recent photo display and all.

And I'm at that stage of hugely pregnant where your mobility slows, your feet want to swell, and your body just wants to sleep 90% of the time.

I believe the technical term for this is "third trimester."

I'm not complaining.  Just stating the obvious.

In any case, yesterday was an especially low point.

I hate to admit this, but in my tired and exhausted state, I wasn't quite sure when I had last taken a shower. 

However, Priss had her playgroup first thing in the morning, so I attempted to make myself look halfway presentable.  I failed miserably (let's just say the old XL t-shirt and gray sweat shorts don't go far in disguising disgustingness), but, thankfully, the other moms were kind enough not to mention it.

They just, you know, took a couple steps back every time I got close.

But on the short walk to playgroup, just before we got to the door, we had to dodge the sprinklers that were going full blast in the lawn outside the Youth Center.

And the very first thought that popped into my head - that I very seriously pondered for about fifteen seconds - "If I run THROUGH the sprinklers, would THAT count as a shower for today?"

It was not one of my finer moments.

Thankfully, one the voices in my head very plainly stated, "Girrrrl!  When your hair is greeezy with a 'z' you have got to have water AND a bar of soap!"

You'll be happy to know I am properly scrubbed and clean now.  Even shaved the ol' pitters.

And I make this promise to you, The People, I will NOT attempt to use a sprinkler in lieu of a real shower.

At least not until after the baby is born.

The Belly Shot

Well, you've clamored for it, and since I like to keep the people happy, here it is.

The Belly Shot.

I have two very selfish reasons for sharing this pic with you.

First off, ya'll are so marvelous at telling me how pretty and cute I look, which I totally eat up like the enormous chocolate chip cookie I made myself for dinner last night.

Secondly, I still like to keep my mom on edge a little with photos of me wearing these...

She HATES it when I teeter atop high-heeled shoes whilst in the last trimester of pregnancy.  Actually, she hates it in ANY trimester of my pregnancies.  She has visions of me falling over and crushing her future grandchild.  I, of course, wouldn't wear them if I didn't feel perfectly safe in them.  (And, truth be told, this is the first time I put on heels during this whole pregnancy, but let's act like this is a regular thing!) 

I wasn't much of a rebel in high school.

I'm making up for lost time.

I'm POSITIVE my children would NEVER gain enjoyment out of doing this sort of thing to me one day.

Right?

One Mean Grape Spoils It For The Bunch

One of the hardest parts of having a baby (other than those delightful hours upon hours spent in labor) is actually finding a decent name for the poor lil' thing.

With Miss Priss, it was easy.

(Her name is not REALLY Miss Priss, by the way, but I always assumed that you, my dear readers, were smart enough to figure that out.)

I was a scant ten weeks pregnant with her, driving home from an appointment, when this voice popped into my head and said, "I'm a girl, and my name is Miss Priss!"

OK, now you think I'm weird. Er, I mean, weirder. In my defense, the little voice was right, and she really was a girl. And we LOVE her name. I swear, I don't hear voices often, and I generally don't listen to them when I do! Now put the straight jacket down, and back away slowly…

Anywho, this time around, no voices. Nothin'. I would switch monthly on whether I felt like it was a boy or a girl, even. And Priss was convinced it was a boy. Now, of course, we are delighted to know that Priss is having a sister (OK, maybe not ALL of us. Priss is still convinced her "sister" is a boy.) and the daunting task continues on just what to name this new wiggle worm.

With Priss, we didn't tell anybody what name we had chosen (or, more accurately, the voice in my head had chosen, but whatever). Hubs exclaimed that he didn't want any input, especially negative, on whatever names we came up with. "Just let them find out once we've already named it (he didn't believe my voices and thought there was still a 50/50 chance. Ha!) and then they'll just have to deal with it whether they like it or not."

I thought it seemed silly. We're pretty conservative folks, so we weren't trying to name her Apricot or anything like that. But I agreed, and that is what we did.

Little did I know just how right he was! This time around, he thought it wasn't as big of a deal anymore, so I went ahead and told anyone who asked what names we were thinking about. Once again, our selections are traditional and classic, nothing too far out of the box. And everyone was pretty good at keeping their opinions to themselves. Every once in a while there'd be a snarky comment, but I'd always let it slide. After all, it's my kid, right? I can name her Razzle Dazzle if that's what I wanted.

Then I talked to my dad yesterday, and all that changed.

Dad: So what are you thinking of naming her?

Me: We're still thinking this name, but there's still a couple months to go, so you never know what my little brain will think up!

Dad: Well, what're you calling her for short?

Me: I like [a nickname that is derived from this other name, but not commonly used in the U.S.]

Dad: Give me a break! Nobody's going to get that. Nobody's going to call her that. Just call her [the more traditional nickname]. Because that's what everybody's going to call her anyway.

Me: Well, um, OK. I figured people would call her whatever we told them her name was…

Dad: Get real! We're not in [that other country], who would put that together? Don't be ridiculous.

Me: Alright. Well, there's lots of other nicknames that can come out of the longer one. Like,….

Dad: Yeah, sure. Well, do what you want. I'm just letting you know how it is.

So I get off the phone all depressed and deflated and only thought of a good retort well AFTER I had hung up, which just made me more depressed.

Because what I should have said was, "Thanks for the input BUD!"

Bud would be my dad's nickname. Know what it's short for??? Anybody???

Howard.

Hmmm, what do you know? A nickname that's not commonly derived from the formal name. How PECULIAR. How BIZARRE.

But, last I heard, nobody's insisted on calling him Howie or Ward lately.

Of course, I'm sure it's just because his friends are smarter than my friends are.

So, to make a long story short, Hubs got home from work and I pathetically told him what dad had said (admittedly, I was slightly more hormonal yesterday, but he was still being a mean, crotchety old man!) and Hubs said from here on out, we ain't tellin' nobody nuthin'.

Go ahead. Ask me what we think we're naming this newest bundle of joy. All you'll get from me is Miss Priss' standard answer.

Monkey Face.

The Latest Fad Diet

"This is all your fault," my adoring husband declared, grabbing his barely visible belly roll with both hands.

Of course, he's referring to the fact that I'm making him gain sympathy weight during this pregnancy. Last time around, he had been deployed for the majority of my nine months gestation, and had the gall to come back ten days before labor more physically fit than he'd ever been in his life. He ran, I waddled.

"Well this is all YOUR fault," I tossed back, smiling as I pointed to my rotund mid-section, in the works now for six months.

Lately, he's been complaining that his pants are fitting tighter than before. Lately, I've been complaining that I actually had to buy new maternity clothes because my old ones are a size too small. I mean, it's sweet that he's been making the effort, but we are really not in the same league here.

"Besides," I added, "I don't feel bad for you one bit. You'll lose your weight in no time."

"Hmpf," was the reply, obviously not happy that I wouldn't participate in his pity party. "Yeah, well, YOU'LL go on a weight loss plan and probably drop 30 pounds in one day!"

Can you believe what I have to put up with here?

"Birthing a baby is NOT a weight loss plan!!!"

He backed off the subject.

But I'm really pretty sure he was not convinced.

I Have Been Accused of Many Things, But NOT EATING Has Never Been One of Them

Well, folks, we had a doctor's appointment the other day.  Me and the little bean, that is.  Actually, I take that back.  I just read that my "bean" is now the size of a lemon.  So let me start that over.

We had a doctor's appointment the other day.  Me and my sunny citrus, that is.  Actually, it wasn't technically a doctor, it was a midwife.  But I've already started over once, so you'll just have to deal with it.

We went through the rigamarole of weighing in and having the blood pressure checked by the nurse.  Then I got to meet the midwife and have her check us over. 

She was very, very nice.  And also very, very German. 

I'm warning you now, I will attempt the German accent, but it's going to deviate into French, Chinese and something from one of those Star Wars aliens.  So bear with me.

The midwife, after checking over the nurse's findings, looks me dead in the eye and says,

"You hhhhave NOT ben eatink."

Was this a joke?  The better question would have been, "What have I NOT been eating?"  Nope, she's not cracking a smile, she must be serious!

"You hhhhave only gained ONE POUND since your last vizit."

"Oh, well, I promise, I have been eating.  I have been eating A LOT!"  Trying to quelch the amused smile on my face.  It's not working.

The midwife continues to eye me suspiciously.

And, trust me, when an old German lady is eyeing you suspiciously, you start to wonder if she's going to utilize interrogation tactics on you.  And not the sissy ones, like waterboarding.

"Well, I was a little on the heavy side to begin with so, you know, I guess it's evening out..."

"So da baby alrhedy had zometink in dere to vork vith?"

"Exactly!"

She seemed to believe me.  Actually, I think it had more to do with her noticing that I had gained a whole three pounds in the two weeks between my initial appointment and the previous one. 

Well, and you can't deny the size of my ass.  You'll get no better proof than that.

Satisfied, we moved on to the measuring of the belly ("It looks small."  Oh, crap, she really is going to interrogate me!) and the doppler thingy. 

"154-155.  You can't get a better hhheartbeat dan dat!"

Yippee!  So all is right in Happily-Ever-After-Land.

Now I'd better go eat some more cookies and fried everything.  Only three weeks till my next appointment!

This Baby is Kicking my Ass!

That's right, I said ASS.

As in A.S.S.

Cause this isn't funny, folks.  And I've got no energy left to mince words!

I have neglected everything bloggy these last few weeks.  No commenting, no emailing.  I can barely bolster enough energy to get a post up once in a while.

I wish I could say I've been spending my computer-free time knitting a baby blanket.  Or sewing the Christmas stockings.  Or learning how to use my new sewing machine.  But no.

I've just been sitting on my ASS. 

And judging by the snugness of my stretchy pants, that ass has increased in size by about 25% since all this started. 

Yeah, for all you haters out there who were enraged at the fact that I get to skip the whole "morning sickness" thing, you now have something to gloat over. 

If there's no puking, there's only EATING!  There, are you happy now?

Well that's about it for today.  I just spent the morning hammering out my latest post for The Classy Closet.  So if you just can't get enough of me, head on over there and check it out!

In the meantime, just know that I miss you all and I'm very hopeful that I will resume a little bit of my formerly energetic self as these weeks progress.  Thank you so much for continuing to throw a comment my way every once in a while.  I do manage to read them, even if I can't seem to make my fingers work long enough to shoot you a reply.

Now, back to my couch and my bagel.  Buttered with half the tub, of course.

I have the smartest readers in the world!

You would all make great detectives!

Well, at least on one of those children's detective shows, anyway! 

I do have to tell you, though, that all of your congratulatory comments really made my day - thank you all so much for taking a minute to send them to me!

We are due in mid-August (and by WE I mean ME), and I am one of those hated women that does not get sick during pregnancy, so I'm feeling really good right now!  Just very, EXTREMELY hungry.  I mean, we'll have a really great, balanced, healthy meal that I'll dig into like some kind of wild animal for dinner, and by bedtime, I have to eat a frozen waffle, just so the pangs of hunger don't keep me awake.  You know, the waffle, or a pint of Ben & Jerry's. 

Did I mention I've already gained four pounds in four weeks?  Yeah, we're off to a GREAT start!

We recently had our first ultrasound at 8 weeks and everything looks fantastic!  I'm sorry to say, though, that the doctor gave us the WORST uterus picture EVER.  Somewhere in my medical file there exists ten other pics of my little sprout that actually looks sort of like a baby (if you squint your eyes and hop on one foot).  But this pic - just a lump of fuzz.

So, the following is an artist's rendering (and by "artist" I mean "me and a box of crayons") of what the ultrasound photo SHOULD have looked like.  Enjoy!

  Oh, and hubs is ALREADY quizzing me on why the baby looks so Asian.  I was, all, whatever!  Can we at least bring the little guy into the world BEFORE we have this argument???