I like food. I am currently successfully battling my food demons. As of right now, I am back on the wagon, on week 4 of Weight Watchers and have lost 3 lbs. That’s pretty good for me. My goal is not to lose my ass and thighs, that’s a forevermore for this girl, but I’d like three things to go away. First and foremost, the baby belly. Second, the double chin aka the Waddle. Third, I need to dump the chubby arms and get my rockin swimmer arms back. The kind I had 10 years ago whilst waiting tables and bartending. The arms that came from 12 hour shifts, trays of food, moving kegs of beer and full bus tubs. I want to sell tickets to the gun show. $50 a pop.
About a week ago, one of Will’s after-school caregivers asked me if I was going to have a baby. If that’s not a kick in the pants, I don’t know what is. It hurt. It made me feel bad, which makes it even worse because I was feeling pretty good about myself up until that point in the day. Was it stupid for her to ask? Hell yes. Was it a crazy statement? Not so much. It’s where my weight has settled. Babies have left and food has taken their place. My food baby. God I love that food baby. It might help if I wasn’t constantly touching it and resting my hand on it, much like I did when I was pregnant. It’s just fascinating that so much can just dwell there. I have to admit, I am constantly poking at it, grabbing handfuls of it when I sit down and look around for a pair of scissors, because that’s what I want to do, just trim it off. Can’t hurt that much right? See how lazy I am? I’d rather CUT my fat off with SCISSORS instead of GASP! walking away from that donut or getting on a treadmill a few times a week.
Since the food baby question, I have been more motivated than ever, so thank you naïve young daycare girl, you made me hit bottom. Time to look up and start taking care of myself. I want to like me. I want my kids to know that I like myself. And I want to make my husband happy, which is not the hard part. He really likes chubby girls. His big fear is that I’ll get “too skinny” and lose my ass. Don’t worry honey, it’s not going anywhere. I’ll never be my teenage self (save maybe the acne, which come on, give a girl a break! I’m 33, when does it end?), but I would like to be a leaner version of me. One that doesn’t use rouching on swimsuits as extra material to fill. I want the actual rouching to come back and be just that, cute wrinkles in the front.
As a testament to my commitment and a way to keep up the motivation, here Internet, is a picture of me NOW. You know, so I can mail it to Weight Watchers and have them ask me to be a spokeswoman, cause you know, they don’t have enough celebrities who’ve just had babies 30 seconds before who want to join. Just so you know, I made pregnant cankles sexy WAAAY before Kim K. You stole my sausage feet Kim!