search termHome-Under-Belly61 Home Under Belly leads | Dataslug.com

Contacts Finder

Search, select, and contact in bulk.
Showing 1–15 of 61 results for Home-Under-Belly.

Lindsay Prendergast Nutrition

lindsayprendergastnutrition.com
My name is Lindsay Prendergast and I’m a Nutritional therapist Naturopath and health coach. Over the years I’ve had problems balancing my own blood sugar levels and this is what prompted me to train in nutrition and lifestyle medicine.
Contact page View on Dataslug Website
Select

Home RoutineFitness Workout programs

routinefitness.com
five stage workout program works with home gym dumbells free weights bowflex gym members T-shirts tee shirts global warming T-shirts bumperstickers al gore p90x fitness apparell multi stage workout workout weight loss diet
View on Dataslug Website
Select

Raising Trinity – Twins Prematurity and Life with 3 under 3

raisingtrinity.com
It appears the hospital has completed its long-anticipated remodel. There are no longer tower cranes and scaffolding outside the gates. The new windows shine with the reflection of the sun. Itfeels different to me this remodeled place. Descendinginto the underground parking structure I mourn the loss of fresh air— somethingthat a multi-million-dollar renovation could not remedy.Theticket machine at the entrance has been replaced. Last year you would push abutton and a token would come popping out. Now I get a barcoded paper ticket. Myeyes dart to the change holder in my Jeep it’s still there my little redtoken cozy at the bottom. Forover a year it has nestled there since the last time I pulled out of thatgarage. For babies in extended NICU care Social Services provided free parkingwith a reusable token. I was supposed to leave it when the doctors dischargedmy twin sons after their six week stay. But I didn’t and for some reason I can’tseem to throw that token away. It’s my last piece of solid evidence. Evidencethat the hardship was real the pain the fright the struggle.Icherish that token the way I cherish my half marathon medals proof of hardyards. Icircle the garage until I find a vacant spot each swing around the parking levelsflashes memories that weren’t memories until this moment. The location I parkedthe day I went into early labor the spot where I cried inconsolably the eveningdoctors informed my husband and I that our son might not survive the cornerspot next to the pillar where my heart broke after my son’s release was delayedat the last minute and I drove home with an empty car seat again. The exactsite where we parked on Christmas morning.Agrandiose pile of concrete and rebar and yet my heart sways. Iride the elevator up to the third floor my pulse quickening with the rise. Thedoors open. I sigh. It has been a long time. Thefamiliar smell of hospital food mixed with antiseptic cleaner the sametightening in my throat as if I need to swallow. Nervous energy flows throughmy veins though today it’s mixed with remorse. Remorse that I did many things wrong. I can’t help but imagine if I could go back to when the twins were still in NICU I would rush to hold them; I would change every diaper demand to give every feeding. I would sleep here every night. I would not be fearful of them. Because now I know the story has a happy ending— I didn’t need to close my eyes and hide through the scary parts. Ifeel both comforted and sickened. I’m perplexed at how such opposing emotioncan exist within me. I’vecome to the hospital for a short administrative errand. I could have called. MaybeI wanted to come. I needed to know how it would feel. Whenthe scars are invisible how do you know when they have healed?Likewhen you see a bruise on your body you simply don’t know how bad it is untilyou take your finger and press.Aftercompleting my errand in the billing department I enter the lobby of NICU withno actual reason for being there. I look around confoundedly waiting. Waitingfor a warm conversation waiting for some sort of kismet to occur. When thelobby attendants begin to give me questioning looks I retreat.Imeander around the hospital pondering the past year of my life the trauma ofthe NICU the horror of bringing home two puny and ailing little creatures. WasI not grateful was I not a good mother. It was all so hard. The sleepdeprivation the medical exams the constant fear the incessant crying fromtiny lungs. I tried my best I fought my hardest I stopped living in orderthat they would thrive. Butthe guilt remains. I was angry with them not for their weakness but for mine.In the cumulative hours that they have existed I have given too many over tocaution too many over to worry and not nearly enough to simply love them. Thesedays I’m learning to smother them with affection I count each kiss as I latherdozens on cheeks hands and feet. In the beginning I was strong for them buttoday I am strong for myself. Today my life isn’t consumed with fear today itis merely love massive amounts of love.ShouldI not then be healed? Should I not then be able to let go of the fear theguilt the remorse and the anxiety?Ireturn to my vehicle; the little red token nestled in the change holder. As Iexit I think about leaving that token atop the shiny new ticket machine.Closing the loop in a symbolic gesture. I hold the token in my palm. ThenI close my fingers tight and pull away.
Contact page View on Dataslug Website
Select
Ready.