Am I McFatty Material?

Several of the mommyblogs I read have a series called "McFatty Monday." It's a group of women, that since the birth of their child, or just because, have decided to lose weight, get in shape, and just plain eat healthier. Each Monday, they post on their success of the previous week, any setbacks, and encourage others on the same journey.

After I had Ansley, I dropped my weight quickly. I'm not trying to rub it in anyone's face at all. However, that quick drop of the weight led me to believe that I could eat anything I wanted, not exercise, and not gain back any of the weight. I took my personal rule of "only one sweet treat a day" to mean I had to have a sweet treat every day, and size wasn't an issue.

So, 8 months, 10 pints of Ben and Jerry's and 2 pants size later, I've realized that I need to get back in shape. Pronto.

Now, I'm not sayin' I want to lose a bunch of weight like my McFatty Friends have done. But, I do want to be healthy. Terribly. I don't even think I need to really watch what I eat. I'm doing a pretty good job of watching it take up residence on my butt. Seriously though, I pretty much stay away from caffeine (I miss my sweet tea dearly), salt, non-water beverages and fast food.

But, dude, I need to exercise more. My muffin tops are back.

So, here's the deal. I want to exercise five days a week. Acceptable exercise includes (but is not limited to): DWTS exercise DVD, at least a 30 minute bike ride, 45 minute walk (which includes walking around the mall for 45 minutes).

Other forms of exercise (ahem, it's exercise. Ask any doctor) do not count toward my weekly goal, but will be strongly encouraged (by the hubs, as always).

The way I see it, if I put it in writing, people are bound to ask me how it's going. So, keep me accountable.

But, if you see me with a tall glass of sweet tea and a pint of Half Baked, just know it was probably a bad day, and it's making me feel better, m'kay?

Blessing Counter

Reason # 5,908 I am blessed: my child.

Recently, I've been touched by a family in Texas. I feel so close to them, yet I've never even met them. I've never spoken to them. I've never even seen them across a crowded room. But my heart breaks for them.

A few days ago, I found myself crying in the shower. Crying for a little girl named Layla. I had only known about Layla for a few days. But, in those few days, her story touched my life.

You see, Layla, a beautiful little two-year-old, was diagnosed with nueroblastoma last year. After intensive chemotherapy at the end of 2009, the Marsh family was given only a few months with Layla.

But, those months were taken, as Layla's doctor discovered two more tumors in February. I came into the picture just as Layla was making her exit.

I happened upon her family's blog, Layla Grace, and couldn't pull myself away. I read many of the postings, going back to the first post made. And I was amazed. And it hurt me.

I was amazed at the beauty of the little girl, and her eyes that were so full of life. And I was hurt by the recent family pictures. Though absolutely beautiful, how difficult it must have been knowing this would be some of the last photos with your little girl.

I was amazed at the faith the family had. Despite their circumstances, they continued to lift up the Lord's name, praising Him for their gifts, and trusting in His perfect timing. And, I was hurt, because I had to admit, if I were in their shoes, it would be very difficult for me to do the same thing.

I was amazed at the outpouring of love, and the compassion in every comment left on the blog. The entry from March 7, the last before Layla passed, had over 1,000. Who knows how many stumbled upon the site and didn't comment. And I was hurt because I didn't feel like words were enough to heal their hearts. I wanted to fly to Texas, and do something. Anything. But there was nothing I could do.

So, I cried. I cried in the shower because I felt like my own heart was breaking. I cried because it didn't seem fair. I cried because my little girl was sleeping just down the hall, while Layla had left the arms of her family. I cried because they were so strong, and I was weak.

I would never wish their story on anyone. But I can't stop thinking about their ultimate devotion. Even in their utter misery, they managed to encourage me. Me, some 1,000 miles away. Not in the same position. The Lord used them to speak to me.

And, each day, I've hugged Ansley a little longer. I've laughed with her a little more, and I've tried to make each day precious. Even when she is crying and won't take a nap, I'm trying to remind myself that Ansley is not mine. She has been given to me to care for and love, and despite my objections, that time is not guarenteed.

So, remember the Marsh family, as they adjust to life apart from Layla Grace. And tonight, count your blessings. I know I will. And I'll probably throw a few extra in, because I'm sure I've forgotten more than I can count.

This post in honor of Layla Grace Marsh.