It Starts Today

I suck at self-motivation.  Seriously.  I have found that I always want the cookie or Frappuccino more than I want a hot body in that moment and I almost always pick NAP over EXERCISE when I have an hour to myself. 

But here's the thing.  I can't afford to buy any more fat clothes.  And the ones I have are growing tight.  It's time to face what I have been dreading.

In my mind I look like this:



But in reality I look more like this:



I am afraid to step on the scale but here goes:

155 lbs.  Shit. 

I am joining Wacky Jacqui in her fitness quest and will be posting weekly about my progress. 

Here are my basic goals. I am an underachiever and believe that I should aim low and not be put off by my lack of results so here goes:

• I want to be about 135 lbs so I have 20 lbs to lose.
• I will walk for 30 minutes 3 times a week AND for 15 minutes on my lunch breaks (3 days a week).
• If I go out to eat (which we seem to do a lot in the summer) I will take half my entree home because the portions are always too big. And NO DESSERT.
• NO eating after 8pm.  We always eat dinner early and there is no reason to snack at bedtime.
• 8-10 glasses of water per day. 
• More Fruits and Veggies
• Less ice cream.

Truly, if I can just start to feel less lethargic, that is enough for me. 

Anyone want to join up?  I will be posting my progress on Fitness Fridays and would love if some of you joined us.

Selena

DRIVING me crazy

There are hundreds of things I miss from my pre-Mommy days.  I miss my body.  I miss making spontaneous plans.  I miss being able to leave the house without 2 hours of preparation and planning.  But there is one thing that I am reminded of nearly every single day, and every day I miss it more and more.

I miss being able to zone out and think while driving. 

Have you ever tried to concentrate on the road in a construction area where there is no shoulder and cars are merging in front and behind you with a 4 year old in the back seat?  Do you have any idea how nerve racking that is?

Actual conversation that took place in heavy traffic yesterday:

Kid: Mommy, what day is it?
Me: It's Tuesday. 
Kid: Is it Tuesday?
Me: Yes.  Today is Tuesday.
Kid: I think it's Wednesday. 
Me: No.  It's Tuesday.  Trust me.
Kid: Is it going to be Thursday tomorrow? 
Me:  No.  It's going to be Wednesday because today is Tuesday.
Kid: No it isn't Tuesday, it's Wednesday.
Me:  Ok... Then you're right.
Kid: Is tomorrow Friday or Thursday. 
Me: Tomorrow will be WEDNESDAY.
Kid: No tomorrow isn't Wednesday. 
Me: Yes it is.
Kid: Today is Wednesday. 
Me: No it isn't.
Kid: It's Wednesday and tomorrow is Thursday.
Me: OK.  Let's play a game and see who can be quiet longer!
(6 seconds go by)
Kid: Mommy, what day is today?

I have begged for quiet.  I have tried to make a game of it.  I have turned up the music to drown her out (which just makes her scream that it's too loud and that she has a headache).  I have explained that Mommy needs to concentrate and just needs to not have to answer any more questions while I am driving.  Nothing works.

What makes it worse is that she also constantly critiques my driving.

Why are you going so slow? 
Why did you hit that bump? 
Are we going to crash? 
Why don't you go around that guy? 

I should be thankful that she is so curious about the world. I should be glad that she feels she can talk to me. Because I know that before I know it there will be slammed bedroom doors and refusals to listen. But JESUS CHRIST, can I just have a few quiet minutes in the car when I need it???

Mean Evil Morning Mommy

Every morning it is exactly the same thing.  Lila gets up and goes downstairs and a few minutes later I come clomping exhaustedly down the same stairs barely awake and heavy with sleep and Lila comes RUNNING to me excitedly trying to jump up onto me for a hug as if we had been apart for the length of a prison sentence or something.

Most times I barely catch her and she throws herself at one leg contentedly rubbing the side of her face against me as I struggle to keep my balance.  I pay her no mind as I limp steadily to the kitchen to make myself coffee.  I admit it - My cup of coffee is the only thing that makes me capable of putting up with the absurd amount of streaming energy that the kid has first thing in the morning.

I remember KNOWING that I was not allowed to ask my mother for ANYTHING until she had a few minutes to sit down with her cup of coffee and have a few sips in peace.  I knew it.  I understood that if I did ask for anything I would get a response like this:

That's my mother before her morning coffee.

I just KNEW this...as far back as I remember.  So why is it that MY kid, as whip smart as she is, feels the need to help me start my day with demands for 10 different cartoons, none of which are on right now and specific pieces of cereal with a certain very measured amount of milk, when I can barely function enough to remember to flush the toilet?  Have I not traumatized her enough to make her understand that Mommy needs her coffee first?  Do I have to turn into this EVERY morning:

Because no matter how many times I say nicely "just give Mommy a few minutes to wake up" I get the same whining and complaining and demanding which always turns me into the evil Mommy who won't feed her child. 

Is it wrong that I just need like 15 minutes?  Seriously.  Just long enough to brew a pot of coffee, sit down have like 5 sips so that I can be more like this:

F**K YOU, GRAVITY!!!

Today I am going to talk to you about my boobs.  Not that I think you want to know, but because I need to vent and this is my place to do that and so I am doing it.

I remember a day not so long ago when I loved my boobs.  Really.  I did.  As a younger, less self-conscious girl, I often thought my boobs were my nicest feature and although small they were perfectly round, symmetrical and perky. 

I loved my boobs so much I would sometimes get drunk and feel the need to show them to the whole bar!  (Yup, I was THAT chick). 

I remember that I was always dressing them up in pretty bras and cute tops that showed them just right so that they would feel how incredibly special and appreciated they were, because I knew that age (and someday possibly motherhood) would take their toll.

When I got pregnant I cried because I knew that it would likely ruin my boobs forever.  The prospect of them getting bigger was truly exciting for me, but I was totally disgusted by the idea of anything coming out of them, because up to this point, they were not functional.  THEY WERE DECORATIVE.  And I liked them that way.  I was up for breastfeeding, but knew I wasn't going to be one of those mothers who stressed about it.  If the kid took to it (and they worked properly) I would do it and if not, I had no real problem with giving her a bottle.  But secretly, I think I hoped she wouldn't take to it because I dreaded the long stretched-out look that so many women ended up with after a year or so of having someone sucking at those things.

Finally the baby came, and although she seemed to have no problem tearing into my boobs and getting her fill from them, the scabbing and pain (which the breastfeeding lady couldn't seem to fix for me) was more than I was willing to deal with in the days after having my entire mid-section opened and a baby pulled out of there.  So I opted out.  And then the milk came in.  I was thrilled the day I looked in the mirror and saw this:


My boobs when the milk came in.

But they hurt like a bitch.  Good thing I wasn't breastfeeding and could take a ton of the pain killers I had left over from my c-section to dull that shit.  But that was temporary and within a year, everything was more or less back to normal except flatter and wider. 

This was not ideal, but I had a healthy (if not ill-tempered) baby girl to show for it and I had lost most of the weight without too much stressing. And honestly, stepping into the "Mommy" role made me totally uninterested in the state of my boobs, or the rest of my body for that matter.  I HAD GROWN A PERSON INSIDE ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!  What man could make THAT kind of claim?

For a couple of years I fell into that trap of not really bothering to shave my legs or trim the lawn or any of the other basic maintenance items that had been a total preoccupation for my younger, always-dating self.  I put on weight, which made my boobs fill out again and under the right tee shirt with the right bra, they totally looked bigger, better and more awesome than ever!

But the other day I was getting into the shower and for some odd reason (probably because it's bathing suit season again) I stopped in front of the full-length mirror naked and looked.  This is what I saw:


My boobs at the nude beach

 WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY BOOBIES??????

One was considerably bigger and the other was facing the wrong way!  My nipples have slipped downward and they hang more to the side than the front now!  I can only blame age and gravity (because I am NOT going to offend the several bowls of ice cream I enjoy each month) and can only imagine that this is normal and that most women have some kind of similar experience.

I felt betrayed.  I mean, my boobs were like my buddies.  I counted on them for a boost in self image when everything else failed me.  Bad hair day?  At least I have nice boobs!  Face breaking out?  My boobs sure look full today!  Period cramps?  At least my boobs look fantastic!  And now that's all gone.  What the hell am I going to do with them now?  I can't sell them.  No one would want them.  And I can't keep them covered up all the time (although I may try).  I suppose I could have implants and/or a nip/tuck kind of thing to yank them up to my chin but who the hell has the cash for that.

I suppose that in the end I will just have to accept that we had a good run and that the glory days of fantastic breasts are behind us. We went on many b-cup sized adventures together and I sure will miss the good old days of using you to seal the deal when I want to get backstage at a concert or just need some confidence for a date.   I just hope I can stop getting choked up whenever I see a KFC ad.

All photos were the result of google searches.

Sunday Stealing: The MONDAY Bonus Holiday Meme


Cheers to all of us thieves!



1. If the moon were to be mistaken for a celebrity, who would it be?


2. What's a ghost to you?
Something that lives in my past that sneaks up on me once in a while.

3. If you had to do anything with your sworn enemy, what would it be?
Stab-a-thon

4. Oh no, Marge Simpson got kidnapped by aliens! What do you say to the aliens to get her back?
Bleep glarb bleeb leege. (Alien for "She doesn't exist.  Take Britney Spears instead")

5. Have you ever had lunch together with your neighbor?
No but when we first moved in my neighbor cooked us an awesome dinner and brought it over to us.

6. If you had to pick your own personal theme song, what would it be?
Cheap and Evil Girl by Bree Sharpe

7. Describe what's sexy to you.
Nice forearms, tattoos and the ability to admit when they're wrong.

Not so much that tattoo, though

8. A vampire suddenly knows all your secrets. What do you do?
Nothing.  I don't have any good secrets.

9. If you had to have a role in a movie, what kind of character would you prefer to play?
I'd be the villian. for sure.




10. You have to read a coworker's (or friends) very personal diary. You pick the person. Who is it and why?
Oh Christ.  I really don't want to know anything about the 80 year old ladies at work.  Seriously.  I hear them complain enough already.  I don't need that kind of ticket into the workings of their minds.