June 20, 2007

We have decided to put carpeting in the new addition, thinking that would help make it a warm, cozy area for watching movies and the like (we have wood floors everywhere else). The pets are in cahoots to convince me otherwise, though. I’ve swabbed up three separate Barf Incidents in the last few weeks, and as utterly disgusting as the experience was each time (let me just warn you that when a household pet devours a toddler’s leftover string cheese, then horks it back up less than an hour later, the cheese will have transformed into a whitish, slimy, oblong Object of Horror, and I just threw up a little typing that) I was so thankful the barf was deposited on a wipeable floor, because DOG, for one, produced such a Lake of Nastiness (at 3 AM OH MY GOD) that if it were on carpet the only solution would have been to soak the house in gasoline and let ‘er rip, because I am telling you there would not have been enough Spot Magic in the whole world.

Dog, being a dog and therefore a marginally superior pet (although admittedly sporting a brain the approximate size and shape [and . . . flavor?] of a Flintstones vitamin), mostly keeps the contents of her stomach where they should be instead of stealthily depositing them in such areas as the exact middle of our white bedroom comforter; while Cat is a creature whose favorite Jeopardy topics would be Small Helpless Animals I Enjoy Slowly Killing, Best Times of the Evening for Howling Outside the Child’s Door (Anytime After Bedtime is the Right Time!), and Bolting My Food and Hurling It Back Up: Can I Aim Entire Undigested Kibble Pieces Inside a Nearby Shoe?

So the carpet, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, but on the other hand as much as I love our wood floors I am so goddamned sick of sweeping up dog hair (every. five. minutes) I’ll be glad to have one room that camouflages the ever-present tumbleweeds, even if it’s spotted with barf stains. And in related news, my house is going to be featured in Apartment Therapy AND Martha Stewart Living this month! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa.

Tomorrow I’m flying to San Francisco again for a short, work-related trip. We get in, do some kind of software-related shuck-and-jive, then we bail back home on Friday morning, which is just enough time to suffer through lots of airport security and uncomfortable plane rides and city traffic, but not enough time to do anything remotely cool. I’ll be staying at the Marriott, though, and if I remember correctly there’s some kind of amazing cream puff place just around the corner, or there’s always room service pie ordered at midnight and devoured in front of the TV, so I guess as long as there are available desserts it’s not so bad. I have my priorities, you know.

June 18, 2007

I’ve been meaning to post some before and after weight loss photos, but when I sat down to dig up some ‘before’ images, I had a surprisingly hard time finding anything that captured more than my face. Out of thousands and thousands of pictures, I’m only in a few, and I’ve long since deleted the ones I deemed unflattering. Eight million photos of JB with Riley, and about five of me.

Well, anyway, here’s a few that managed to escape my itchy Move-To-Trash trigger finger:




Some are kind of old, but those are all a fairly accurate portrayal of my shape and weight since Riley’s birth.

I think I’ve lost maybe 15-18 pounds in the last four months, which isn’t a particularly dramatic change on the scale. The real difference is in how I look in the mirror and the way my clothes fit, and I’m here to tell you that is so much more important than what the scale tells you. Fuck the scale, actually, because I never would have guessed that 15 pounds would equate to two dress sizes, but there it is. I was crammed into a size 10 when I started, and I wear a comfortable size 6 now. The scale tells me I weigh about 132.

To recap the process to date:

• I did Weight Watchers at first and that was immensely helpful in terms of understanding portion size and learning some good eating habits. After a month or two I stopped counting points and just focused on eating lots of lean protein, vegetables, fruit, and cutting out the high calorie junk altogether.

• I started exercising to a Turbo Jam DVD, which helped me kick start a routine without having to commit to a gym schedule. These days I alternate between jogging a few days a week, doing weight resistance, exercise DVDs, and yoga. I try and exercise every single day, because I feel so much better when I do so.

I have actual triceps for the first time in years.

My shoulders are no longer slumpy and untoned.

I don’t hate my belly any more.

My clothes fit completely differently, which is to say I had to replace some things.

I would say it took about three months to change my habits. To stop eating crap food and actually prefer the healthier alternatives. To want to work out because it feels good, not because I will feel guilty if I don’t.

I’m healthier today than I’ve ever been before, and I am so much happier for it. This is the me—strong, fit, and motivated to stay that way—I want to be for the rest of my life, hopefully through another pregnancy and whatever life dishes out.

I already have more photos of myself with Riley, because I’m not ducking from the camera or deleting things out of iPhoto.


Three months. That’s all it took. After years of excuses and botched attempts to get myself in gear, it took three months to establish new habits. I want to remember that. In three months you can completely change your life.

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