You've Got to Be Kidding Me!

I recently posted on my Fbook status about a run-in I had with a dear, sweet, motherly woman who I wanted nothing more than to punch in the face.  I have never really wanted to "knock a bitch out"... well... with the exception of... they will remain nameless.  Let me just set the stage for my little suare':

It is lonely, cold and drizzling outside.  Sunday afternoon at the gym.  Not a peep to be heard as I enter the (completely!) empty gym.  Music is blaring, TVs are on loud, but not a soul or a cell to warm the place up.  Aaahh, but I am here. 

My body has been using every ounce of fight it can muster up to ward off this cold that has taken up residence in our house.  All children and adults have been under its attack and I will be the last to break... or so I thought.  But nonetheless, I am here.  At the gym. Coughing my lungs out in between back, bicep and tricep supersets.  I will not give in.

Fast-forward one hour and many reps later (some of which ended up with me on the floor, ready to fall asleep because I was so tired).  I climb my lethargic ass onto the treadmill for some dreaded sprints.  I don't know how much I have in me... feels like I am running on fumes.  But I am going to make the most of this.  30 minutes @ 8.5 mph.  30 sec. on / 30 sec. off.  I tell myself "You got this!"  If I want to break through this wall of 144lbs, this is when it counts.  I have to do the work to get the results.  But my bed sounds so much better!

Since my initial arrival, a few stragglers have made their way into the gym, one of which is a "maternally-structured" woman of mid-40s, walking her way up the treadmill on a low incline.  "Good for you!" I think to myself.  Maia's voice resonates in my head with a loud, "Git it gurrrrrrl!"  I love girl-power in the gym!  I set up shop on the treadmill next to her, punching in my info. for a royal ass-kicker due to my above mentioned state of being.  As I pull my hair up into a ponytail, she attempts to make small talk with me.  Attempts.  Yes.  I do mean to stress this word, because it would not have been an "attempt" if she had successfully made small talk with me.  As in, after a few exchanges of words, I did not want to "knock a bitch out".

Now I am going to make a big assumption.  I am going to assume that she has a brain because her body was breathing on its own, moving on its own and by golly, so were her lips.  I am also going to assume that she has children.  Those two assumptions would lead me to believe that she would NOT DO THIS.  Oh... but she did.  The evidence clearly shows that my assumptions were wrong.

Climb on treadmill.
Manual.
Weight.  144.  (Damn!)
Time. 30 min. (Deeeeep breath)
Incline. 0 (You've got to be kidding....)
Speed. 8.5 (----interruption----)

Woman: You look so great!  You've got to be pregnant! (without even missing a beat OR taking a breath to let the logic of her preposition sink in) Are you pregnant??

Me: No.(so incredibly stoic, you would think I were a drone)  ---long, uncomfortable pause--- No, I am not pregnant. (Adjust speed to 9.5 --- deep breath---)

Woman: (logic has still not caught up with her) Oh, well then you must have just had a baby.

Me: (again, long pause) Well... like over 10 months ago.  Avoiding all eye contact so she doesn't see my immediate hatred.

Woman: Oh, well, good for you.  It took my sister like over a year before she ever started to lose her weight.

Me: Yep.  He's my third.  He's hanging around a lot longer than I want. Sprinting begins - meaning DON'T &*%^ING TALK TO ME ANYMORE YOU DIRTY, ROTTEN $#@&%^

Woman: Well,  you look great.

Really.  REALLY? You just asked me if I was pregnant?!?  And I am supposed to be all good now that you said that?  What kind of woman are you?!!  I just worked my ass off lifting weights when I feel like shit! and you ruined it!  You ruined my endorphin rush!  AAAARRRGGHHH!!

Needless to say, I left the gym feeling a little deflated - or rather inflated.

BUT.................................................

The whole reason I am writing this is because I have great news.  I am down to 141 lbs. and 17% body fat.  That's right!  17%! I have never, I mean NEVER been 17%.  I almost shit my pants when I heard that!  So here's the proof:

I think I see an abdominal muscle, maybe some quadriceps and a roundness to my butt that did not exist before.  How's that for looking pregnant?!?  

Ye Will Be Tested

Dear Food,

I love you.  I have loved you for so long now.  We have this inexplicable connection to one another that I can't describe.  I need you in my life.  Not just to merely survive, but to really find purpose.  I need your warmth, your sweetness, your aromas to awaken my senses.  I need to see you, bright and colorful to put a smile on my face.  I need to feel you roll across my taste buds and awaken my palate.  You are one of the most important things in this life.

But we need to talk...

I have decided to break up with you, Food.  Our love affair has gone on too long.  You are the suave, dark, muscular, beast who makes me tingle from head to toe, but leaves me feeling worthless, used and horrible about myself . Food, you are no good for me and I deserve better.  I deserve something who gives back, who appreciates the work I put into our relationship and who won't wake me in the middle of the night for a quickie of fruit loops and buttery toast and then disappear for days on end. I don't like the way you dominate my thoughts all day long.  You leave me with nothing but a tormented stomach... or worse. 

The exit of you from my life is nothing short of relieving.  But I know the ache of your residual toxins will permeate my bathroom for days on end and I will be reminded of what a bad choice you were for me.  Like the aftermath of a long night of drinking, my body will plead and curse at me as to why I let you in.  And in the days following, it will crave your indulgences once again. 

But I will not give in.  No more. I am done!  So go - torment another soul who is more naive than I.  No doubt you will be missed at times, some more than others.  But I will be strong.  I have my friends, vegetables, and comrades, fruit, to give me strength and energy to get over you.

Someday I will find my perfect mate.  The one who completes me.  A completely perfect balance of protein, complex carbohydrates and healthy fats - all the things that make a woman's body strong.  It will make me better.  I will be faster, more amazing and... regular.  All the things you promised but could not deliver.  You were nothing.  Just a shell of a meal, filled with simple carbs, artery-clogging fats, and so many other traits I could not even pronounce.  You were worthless, a waste of time, energy and calories.

Bloated, gassy, and forlornly yours,
Lisa

You guessed it.  I fell off the wagon.  Big time... I mean BIG TIME.  As in my weight on the scale hasn't changed since October (still hovering at 144+/- depending on the day).  I have seen major changes in my muscular development, but that damn scale won't go down!  I am down to 22.1% body fat (maybe even less now... crossing my fingers!) but for whatever reason, the scale won't move.  There were many times it even went up.  So what did I do last week???  I revolted.  Against EVERYTHING I knew to be true and right and just.  I ordered Domino's Pizza.  A bacon and pineapple pizza.  With cheese-stuffed cheesy bread.  Yes, there is cheese inside the cheese bread.  Holy heart-attack in two boxes.  And it was all delicious.  I ate it.  A LOT of it.  And fed it to my kids (they were "as happy as lambs" - as my dear friend Robyn would say!).  There were only three pieces left in the aftermath.  I had enough clarity to throw the box out before I lost it again.  I am surprised I didn't order the chocolate lava crunch cake.  I would have gone into a carb-coma.  It was ridiculous.  And amazingly good.  And within one hour (ONE HOUR!) of my moment of weakness...
Maia: "Momma, did you shit your pants?"
Me: "No, Maia.  I did not shit my pants."
Maia: "You sure??? Lemme check."  She walks to my backside and pulls at the waistband of my pants.
Me: "No, Maia.  Mommy's tummy is upset."
Maia: "You need to go poop.  You stink."

... yep... If only I could.

My little indulgence left me with this damage.  Prepare yourself. 
One serving: 345 cal (15g fat/38g carb/13g prot)

Oh... but as I said, I didn't just have one.  No.  I had THREE. 
= 1035 calories (45g fat/114g carb/39g prot)

Yikes!  I ate all this in less time it takes me to shower.  I was on a mission.

Then I had eaters remorse.  Right about the time Maia started to notice...  Shit.  At least that's what it smelled like.  Gawd, what had I done?!?

I picked myself up, decided it was time to get back on the wagon and do this right.  Cuz what's the point if I am going to KILL myself at the gym but eat terribly?  I does absolutely NO GOOD.  You can't "out-work" a bad diet.  Your body is waaaaay smarter than that.  It knows what you are trying to do.  So here I am exactly one week later, coming out of detox.  That's what I call it.  Every time I eat shit, it takes me a good solid week of struggling to get back.  I obsess about food, dream about it, yearn for it.  But eventually I come out on the other side much stronger than before.  How do I know??  Well, for my oldest daughter's 8th birthday, I let her pick whatever she wanted for dinner. 

Now, this girl just brought fruit kabobs for her birthday snack at school and another student commented, "That's the healthiest birthday treat I've ever seen!"  It was a proud moment for Momma.  So I thought I had a fightin' chance with birthday dinner.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  This is what she ordered:

2 whole eggs, scrambled with

1/4 c. Colby jack cheese 

1/4 lb. bacon 

(544 cal.)

Canned butter biscuits doused in

1/2c. butter,

1 c. maple syrup,

1 c. brown sugar  

2 tsp. cinnamon

AKA: Monkey bread

(464 per biscuit)

GRAND TOTAL: 1472 cal             -----HAPPY BIRTHDAY!-----

Now, please don't freak out.  I don't count my children's caloric intake - especially on Olivia.  I can count every rib on that girl!  So for her to eat this much in one meal is completely OK with me.  Just not every meal.  The sugar, fat, little protein is just not good for anyone.  I use this as an example because in my weaker days (remember Domino's?), I would have consumed this very thing alongside my children because, let's be honest, it is DE.LISH!!  But I stayed true to myself and made this instead:

3 egg whites w/ homemade salsa,

1 serv. sweet potatoes,

1 serv. clean coleslaw

(335 cal)

I felt good about myself, had a new found strength to resist temptation, and these lil' critters were happy too!

So be honest.  What are your moments of weakness?  How do you indulge?  How to you pull yourself out of your "carb-a-tose" state and jump back on the wagon?

Big YEAH! Little yeah...

I am sitting here blogging with two screaming girls upstairs... one PISSED because she was horribly woken up from a nap by her seemingly sweet sister who secretly torments her behind my back and the other PISSED because she was caught and told to stay in her room with no hope of when she will be released.  I feel like a great mom right now...

But I am putting all that aside... along with the baby puke that is still in my cleavage and hair ends (because I was so lovingly thrown-up on three times in 24 hours), the dried sweat drips on my lower-back from my workout this afternoon (STILL haven't had a chance to shower!), the pile of dishes sitting in my sink, and the load of laundry in the washing machine since yesterday that will probably have to be re-washed so it doesn't smell stale... to take a moment for me.  To celebrate a little something I am proud of.  I know.  None of what I just listed is the reason for my pride...

I weighed myself today at the gym before my workout and I am officially at pre-pregnancy weight... 144lbs.  This is the BIG and little yeah.  BIG because it is a milestone to get back to that number you started at.  And little because this is NOT the end of the road for me.  I have LOTS more work to do.  I wasn't happy with where I started before Eli, was just gettin' into the swing of things.  Phil apparently liked the swing of my things... thus leading to addition of our third child.  He put a wrench into my mix... or something else... highly inappropriate, I KNOW, but I was NOT ready for baby #3. Phil had a crazy plan to "secretly" get me preggo because the chinese gender-predictor chart, the constellation alignment, my body and the toothfairy all told him he HAD to conceive a baby RIGHT NOW or you may never get a boy.  Lets just say he was determined and calculated in his efforts. I just couldn't resist his charm, apparently.

The reason I feel the need to celebrate this for a moment is because I originally had set a goal to be at pre-pregnancy weight by my birthday (October 21st), not really thinking I would acheive it by now.  And its OBVIOUSLY before my birthday.  So my treat today was 1/2 a snack size of chili-cheese Fritos.  They were delicious and indulgent and everything I didn't need after swelling my arms and sweatin' my arse off.  But my 240 calories of decadence were worth it to me... for a moment.  I am over them.  I don't want any more.  They didn't taste as good as I wanted them to by the end.  That's good I guess...  But now I want some chocolate to counter the delectable salty/spiciness that still permeates my mouth.  That is a great addition to my current aroma of B.O. and baby puke.  I might just go roll in some of Bailey's poop in the backyard to complete it.

So here I am.  Today.  Chili-cheese Frito belly and all. 

144 lbs.  23.6% body fat with LOTS more work to do

NOT allowing my hubby to throw another wrench in my mix.

I couldn't handle it.  I would be one of those PISSED girls, screaming in my room.

 
         June 2011                       August 2011                       October 2011

I have officially earned every one of my rewards, including... A TATTOO!!  Stay tuned........................

**If you are wondering "how did she???" its simple: eat clean, lift heavy, do cardio.  I honestly have NEVER felt this good -- ev.er. I am back into the swing of things and Phil really likes the swing of these things.  But I'm NOT letting him have his way again.  I already own a minivan... I don't want to fill it.

Check THIS out.

You little LIAR!

Its 4:30pm and I am ready to go to bed.

However "with-it" and on top of stuff I may have sounded in my last post... IT'S ALL LIES!!  I am completely having ONE OF THOSE DAYS!  I lied about having my sh*t together, I lied about eating well, I lied about it all!!

Okay, maybe not all of it... but today I feel like the biggest liar and my pants are so on fire that even the hairs inside my ears are singed.  --SIGH!!!--

What is up?  I slept in this morning... my brood allowed me to sleep until 7:20 instead of the 6:01 wake-up call that typically happens on my days off.  Thank you!  I rolled out of bed and that's exactly what went wrong.  Don't these children know that Sunday is Mommy's day off?!  I shouldn't have to make waffles or watch Angelina Ballerina or change diapers or wear spit-up.  It's my day off!!  There should be absolutely no bowel movements that require assistance, no consumption of food that requires preparation, no voices on the television any higher than mine.  None. 

But when I rolled out of bed, it was a looooong roll because the other side was empty.  The man is saving lives today so that mean he is unavailable to save mine.  Actually, when I rolled out of bed, I had to roll over two children who came into bed with me, one due to nightmares (that conveniently only happen when Phil is at the fire station) and the other who loves to beat the sun into my room.

We hit the ground running.  Bottle for the endless tank with rice cereal mixed in simply because I cannot afford (on my reduced teacher's income) to go through TWO LARGE CONTAINERS of formula in one week.  The boy can eat.  I will have to turnin' tricks pretty soon if I want to keep him fed.  Next was breaking up the unending fights between our 7 yr. old and 2 yr. old.  Seriously.  They are ridiculous.  Sometimes I want to stand back and let the two of them duke it out but I know I will have to fork out therapy sessions for the older one since she will have some MAJOR self-esteem issues knowing her younger sister forced her into an arm-bar, yelling "TAP OR I'LL SNAP" in her sweet lil' voice.  Okay, take your corners, girls!

So, hair in a ponytail, sweats in tow (all of us) and barely brushed teeth, we decide to go to my classroom.  I was ambitiously thinking I could make it over there for 2 hours and have the girls watch a movie while I worked.  I packed snacks, bottles, blankets, animals, a stroller and a kitchen sink just to make sure I could get some work done.  After a quick stop at Redbox for two **new** movies, I thought we were in the money.  Right...  After some guilt-laden conversation about "how long daddy's been gone" we headed to the fire station for a quick visit.  Poor guys.  They can't keep us away from there.  We were just there Phil's last tour and lo' and behold, we must visit again.  I always feel terrible when we are there too often because, really, that's why they GO to work... to get a break!  Luckily they got a call and had to rush out so I forced the children back into the car and on our way.  Okay... to school we go... not yet...  There was something in the air... I felt the need to pay myself in advance with a Starbucks, anticipating what lied ahead of me.  That something wafted its way up my nose in between the delicious scent roasted beans as if to taunt me say, "just you wait..."

Snapshot:  TV cart in classroom, sound blaring, snacks all over the floor...  Baby crying in stroller, can't find bottle, poop up to his shoulder blades...  Found bottle! Feed, but wrong nipple on the end...  Feeding turns into gagging with a small amount of food consumption... Turns out to be a LOT of food consumption when he threw up ALL of it on himself, myself and the floor...  Spit-up...poop... poop some more... poop from Maia... marker on pants... marker on face... marker on tables... highlighter on whiteboard... stamps on EVERYTHING... Maia grading math papers... stacks of paper strewn everywhere... Maia grading papers the students haven't even done... Me under my desk curled in a ball... stamps on my forehead... marker on my arms... bodily fluids on my shirt and pants... clinging to a bottle of Jack Daniels... eyes bloodshot... hair frazzled...

I say all of this with the very real understanding that I would never trade days like this for anything.  Because in the cluster that can be our life, I am hit in the face with moments that take my breath away.  Like today, when all I wanted was for the lil' prince to go to sleep, he reached up simply to touch my face and spit out his binky to give me an amazingly heart-melting smile.  Or when the very first sound I heard in the morning was the pitter-patter of spry little feet dancing across the hardwood, anxious to get to my bedroom... followed by the second sound I heard, "Good mornin' momma!"  I love my children, love my husband, love this CRAZY life we created.

But where am I right now??  I haven't worked out since Tuesday (need to sweat the crazy outta me everyday!!), ate too much pizza for dinner last night, my only *real* meal today was my first one (oatmeal w/ protein powder), two kids are only in diapers & fighting my overwhelming desire for them to sleep, I pawned one off on a neighbor but I secretly know she was DES.PER.ATE! to get out of the line of fire, I already dealt out two spankings today and feel more coming, my dishwasher is open and filled with dishes, my bedroom floor is covered with sorted piles of laundry, my living room floor is covered in goldfish crumbs and soy nuts, my kitchen floor is covered in dog hair, sticky waffle pieces and MY hair (that seems to be coming out by the wig-full), and I haven't even paid attention to what's upstairs.  If you are missing a child, puppy or satellite, it may be residing in the upper half of our house.  I don't even want to talk about the bathrooms, though half of what **should** be going in there seems to be going on me... --SIGH-- 

So, I am going to stay under this desk, with my bottle of Jack, add some brown and black to the marker already covering my skin, put some tape to my hair and maybe some sticky notes to my a** and maybe I'll look like a forgotten art project and be left alone for 5 minutes.

But its another great day at the Desilet homestead!

Here is a fitness update too:
I am down to 146.  Still have some work to do.  BUT I am starting to see the muscles in my shoulders/back come back, my tummy doesn't pooch out so much, my ta-tas are waaaaay smaller (I am happy!) and my saddlebags don't look like they are loaded down quite so much.  Progress is progress, no matter how big or small, right?!

**If I hadn't left my damn camera at school and could figure out how to post from my phone, I would have photo updates too.  Coming soon... I PROMISE!**

This is IT!

No more excuses... no more second guessing... no more questioning... It's all laid out for you. Let the spoon-feeding begin! click here

I am obsessed... still.

Day 2 - a whole 'nother story

Instead of telling you I spent the day running around like a chicken with my head cut-off and that was all I could squeeze in for a workout or that I only had a piece of pita bread with hummus for dinner or that my kids JUST went to bed, I will reduce my personal updates to a weekly status. I will, however, write everyday. It might take me a couple days to 'compose' something blogworthy, but I will write.

What is there to write about? Well, in the hours I spend neglecting my children to feed my current obsession, I am learning LOTS of new things! Things about food, calories, muscles, time management, food prepping, meal planning, carbohydrates, proteins, fats, and most recently "fat chicks who love protein"... I won't even begin to explain how/why/what of that statement. If only I could erase the images...

I will share my new-found knowledge with you - the one person who has chosen to read this. I have received a few questions from friends in these VERY early days and I will do my best to answer them periodically. This will also help me to learn my own body better, what triggers I have, what works best for me, what totally sucks, etc. If by some miracle of osmosis it helps you, GREAT! If I only slightly entertain you with my inappropriateness and candor, GREAT! If I can do both, JACKPOT! I'll get the tissues.

My newest epiphany: I am a stress-eater. (Explains SO MUCH about my current state!) This is a HUGE revelation because the first step is admission.

Hi. My name is Lisa and I use food to comfort me when I feel the world is about to collapse. In doing so, I subconsciously think that the mass consumptions of turtle sundae blizzards, fettuccine alfredo and Chili Verde Doritos will miraculously transform me into a scrapbooking, coupon-queen of a mother who takes her children to the park everyday, always has them perfectly dressed in coordinating outfits and coiffed hair, runs 5 miles before the sun comes up, keeps an immaculate house that is decorated well enough to be featured in Better Homes and Gardens, refurbishes old furniture in my free time and still has the energy to be a tigress in the bed - multiple times a day. Howz that for a diagnosis?!?

Ah, but low and behold... I am still here... in my nasty sweats that I don't even wear in front of my husband... face unwashed... sink full of dishes... washer and dryer BOTH with full loads in them... crumbs on the floor... I am going to bed. No tigress tonight. At least my teeth are brushed!

Day 1 Complete

The first day is always the easiest, right? Here is what I did...

Wake up at 7:30 with a baby still attached to my boob. Detach said child and make coffee so Phil has something awaiting him for Father's Day (I am such a bad wife!). Put on workout clothes, look at self in mirror. Pep talk. Gawd, this is going to be a lot of work!

Head upstairs, insert P90x Plyometrics into DVD player. Pray that the ballerina inside me takes over and I don't jostle the ceiling fans loose with my elephantitis jumping. Hit play.

Pant. Breathe. Drink. Curse. (repeat 8+ times) Get slapped in the butt by encouraging 7 year old while doing squat jacks. Thanks Liv. Stop jiggle in butt from slap. Squat lower.

Hear crying baby with 23 min. left in video. Don't give up. Bring baby onto couch to entertain him with gallivanting. Save baby from getting tossed off couch from elephantitis. Realize the internal ballerina is no longer employed here. She gave her notice years ago...

Feel guilty as the sound of clanking dishes rings up the stairwell as husband unloads dishwasher and feeds children ON FATHER'S DAY. Feel better as he meanders up the stairs with an encouraging smile, stating he will "do whatever it takes to help you be successful!" Guilt temporarily deterred.

Done with workout. Deep sigh. Let the real battle begin - food consumption.

Breakfast:
3/8 c. oatmeal with 1/2 scoop protein powder & 1 tsp. flax seed (200 c.)
12 oz. coffee w/ 3 T. creamer (my weakness!!) (90 c.)

Lunch:
6 in. chipotle chicken sandwich from Subway (400 c.)
1/3 apple

Dinner:
2 serv. tortilla chips + 1/2 c. salsa (335 c.)
2 slices artichoke chx. pizza (360 c.)
1 slice Hawaiian pizza (270) I SHOULD HAVE STOPPED AT 2!!
2 c. salad w/ 1 T. raspberry vinaigrette (90 c.)
2 glasses Pinot Noir (YUMMO!) (240 c.)

Final Damage: 1990 calories
SHIT.

It happened again!!!

Are you kidding me?!? Someone else thought I was pregnant... AGAIN! WTF?

Let me set the stage... It is Phil and my first REAL date since Elias was born. We are going to a comedy club to see his friend perform. Keep in mind I am obviously struggling with some MAJOR body issues thus creating a whirlwind of a disaster in our closet as I attempt to find something remotely non-30 and non-minvan-looking to wear. I know for certain none of my cute jeans fit so I don't even try. Okay. Preggo jeans. Hot. Now, what to do about the upper-half of my body? Nothing tight because I have a prevailing ex-baby bump and ridiculously out-of-proportion ta-tas that could suffocate a lesser man. Nothing with a pattern because... same dilema. Nothing short waisted because my boobs and belly make it half of a shirt and honestly. No one wants to see that shit. &*$K!!! What am I going to wear?!?


I stick with long, black and boring. As we are leaving to go pick up our young, cute, fun friends, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, realizing I am about to head downtown in a 2004 Honda Odyssey and offically feel 30. God. This sucks. I feel and look as old as I really am. What happened to the peppy, fun, hot 19 yr. old Phil met??? I always feel like her when I go on dates with him (He has absolutely gotten better with age, which doesn't help my current mental state!) I ate her, apparently.

Okay, I am over it. Here I am. Deal with it. Your husband LOVES you. He thinks your HOT and is excited to get any sort of attention from you considering you just came out of an incredibly hormonal pregnancy (=little action in the bedroom for 9 months) and recovery from delivering a baby (=NO action in the bedroom for 6 weeks). He's good with whatever you've got goin' on right now. That's all that matters. HE is all that matters. So just let it go and enjoy yourself or you just might end up with a bunch of holes all over the house from fits and... other things.

So we go to the comedy club and walk up to the booth to pay. A guy Phil knows is working, whom we haven't seen in about a year. They do the whole "Howyabeen" thing and smiles while pointing at my belly. Now keep in mind, MANY and I mean MANY people have told me they would NEVER say ANYTHING to a woman unless it was BLATANTLY OBVIOUS (interpretation: she was going to deliver any day). They apparently have made the same mistake this incredibly good-intentioned, poor chap is about to make. So what does he do? He opens his mouth. "Look at that! (again, pointing at my stomach) Man, congratulations!" Me: Smile and laugh. Smile and laugh. Inside feeling like I should plop myself in front of the TV in a Hawaiian-print mu-mu and buy stock in Doritos. Phil (my knight in shining armor): "Dude. She's not pregnant. We just had a baby."

A blank stare came over the guys face. I tried to decipher if it was taking a bit to process due to his consumption of Jack Daniels or if he was strategically planning his next move like the loser in the World Chess Championship who realizes he is about to hear either "check" or "check-mate." I hoped for the latter... How does he respond? As any upstanding citizen would do. He hops on his bicycle and starts back-pedaling as fast as his legs could take him.

After multiple apologies, he says "You definitely won't forget the first time you met me!" "Yeah, except we've met before." "Oh, damn. I'm sorry." --uncomfortable, sporadic laughter-- "Well, your first drink is on me. What can I get you?" His wife kindly whispers in his ear, "Honey, she's probably breastfeeding and can't drink you idiot." "Right. I am so sorry." Me: Hell yes I am drinking you &%$*chop! Make it a double! But instead, I walk (or should I say waddle) away to find my seat.

Now I lead with this story because it really does set the stage for what I am about to expose. You see, I have never thought of myself as fat. Well... not until recently. I have been heavier than I would like at times but never really obsessed or thought too much about it. I was lucky. If I didn't like how I looked, my body would eventually level itself out after a few months of eating healthy and *sort of* being active. Phil teases me because in the 12 years he had known me, I have never consistently worked out for more than a few months. Basically long enough to notice some changes, then I quit, because I had better things to do with my time (like take care of a child or put myself through school). But I have also never been really fit - just looked okay with strategically chosen clothes that flattered what I wanted to show and hid what I didn't.

But slowly and surely, I have packed extra on with every pregnancy and never really worked it off. This sounds so familiar... can you say "suburban housewife"?? Wait... that's what I am!! I know for certain that I am one of those who needs at least a solid 2 years to fully recover from pregnancy. I need time to get my hormones stabilized, my body back, my mental capacities, etc. TWO YEARS! When it does, this is what I get:

Not bad, but not totally fit either... just normal.

When I don't get my mandatory recovery time, this is what I get:

Seriously. This is me today. When you see me at the pool, this is what is hiding under my swimsuit cover that I will absolutely NOT take off even if my child is drowning. Its coming in the water with me! So here I am. Laying it all out there for everyone is cyber-everywhere to see. I can't believe I am doing this!!! But forcing myself to deal with the reality of it will only help me... right? No laughing and pointing. No whispering. No gasps. Well, okay. I mean you are safely judging me in the comfort of your own home, parked in front of your computer screen where no one will hear your criticism. Go ahead. Zoom in and check out my dimples. Gawk at my stretch marks. I have already done this multiple times.

Here is the damage report:
Age: 30
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 154 lbs.
Body Fat: 28.9%
BMI: 24.1
Waist to Height Ratio: 0.49
(all of the info. above indicated I am obese or borderline obese)
Bust: 39" (seriously.)
Waist: 35.5"
Hips: 44"
Thigh: 24"
Arm: 11.5"
So the plan is this:

• Cut calories to 15oo max. per day


• Exercise AT LEAST 5 days/week for 60 minutes (gym, P90X, run, etc.)


• Balance protein/carbs/fats to a 40:40:20 ratio


• Increase water consumption (1 gal/day)

Bottom line: I need to get this shiz under control! My goal is to be at fightin' weight by the time school starts again. I am setting little goals for myself as motivation. If I work out for one week consistently, I get a facial. One month: a massage. If I make/maintain my goal weight by my birthday (October), I get a tattoo! Oh, it's on... like Donkey Kong! Who's with me?!?