Jun
11
Oh god, are we still talking about this? Note to the million-and-one ParentDish commenters who opined that all mothers who work outside of the home are jealous of those who stay at home full time: ah, no. If I am jealous of anyone, it’s the rare breed of parent who purely loves staying home OR working OR a combination of the two because it truly fulfills them and makes them happy and — here’s the important part — doesn’t feel compelled to crap on defensively about their choice and explain why the alternatives to their own situation are undesirable to not only themselves but somehow, mysteriously, every other parent on earth. I am jealous of this maybe-mythical person because when I read someone’s comment that if a family has two working parents they shouldn’t have kids because “kids are a prividlede not a right!” (side note: is a spellchecker a privilege too?) I can’t stop my OWN self from crapping on about how close-minded this is and how every working parent has their own unique situation and the tired-ass argument that keeps getting trotted out about how when you work outside the home you aren’t actually raising your own kids reminds me of a bunch of slack-jawed morons holding up misspelled signs that declare the earth is flat, FLAT WE SAY, and really, maybe if I could just not CARE about other people having (crazy) opinions about my parenting choices I could sit back and concentrate on feeling fulfilled and happy instead of FROTHY-MOUTHED and RAGE-Y.
Oh god, am I still talking about this?
Jun
9
The scale is reading 134 these days, which is about 20 pounds down from my weight back in February. I am feeling good about what I’ve accomplished so far, but also thinking, wow, that sure took a while. Maybe it means I’ve been doing this weight-loss effort in a sustainable, healthy way — not going hungry, eating nutritious foods, building up lots of muscle — or maybe it means my total inability to cut out the late-night snacking did not go unnoticed by the bathroom scale.
(Cool Whip Free + Battlestar Galactica = CRAZY DELICIOUS.)
No matter, though; it may have taken a bit longer than I had hoped but I am now basically back at my pre-pregnancy weight, and even more importantly, fitting back into all of my pre-pregancy clothes — even the size 6 pants that are surely vanity sized up the wazoo but dude, the label reads SIX, I’d wear them if they were made out of ASBESTOS because HELLO: SIZE 6.
Ahem.
I’m stronger than I was when I did this weight loss business last year, mostly because I didn’t have to start from ground zero this time around. I’ve also joined a gym and have been alternating different types of workouts throughout the week, to stave off boredom and also keep myself challenged. I think I’m eating better, too, sticking with a good rotation of meals that feature lean proteins/fruits/vegetables and rarely include processed carbohydrates.
(Except for Cool Whip. Shut up, I quit drinking, I quit ice cream, I WILL NOT QUIT YOU COOL WHIP.)
It feels like something I can stick with. Something I can keep doing, and see where it takes me. I feel so much better like this, not just for my improved body image but for my energy, my mental well-being, my patience, my ability to lift the 68392-lb carseat.
I am trying to be patient with the process and be friendly with my slowly-retreating belly instead of cursing its still-flabby appearance. Apparently it takes time to bounce back from the effects of stretching to accommodate the World’s Kickiest Baby, and although I’m re-building my core strength I imagine it will be a while before I feel like prancing around in a bikini.
(“A while” like “when pigs fly through the gentle snowdrifts in HELL”, that is. Bikinis, oh hell no.)
I’m not the sort of blogger who normally receives exciting freebies in the form of cameras or Wiis or ten minutes in a dark closet with Ewan McGregor (although I would like to make it clear to any interested PR executives looking for someone to review the experience of ten minutes in a dark closet with Ewan McGregor that I am totally willing to accept the burden of this assignment at any time) but I did recently get a offer to try out a non-surgical body shaping/cellulite reducing treatment. The offer was quite generous, allowing me to receive four expensive treatments for free with no obligation to recommend or even review the experience.
I thought pretty seriously about accepting the offer and trying out the procedure on my belly, but ultimately decided not to. Not because I think there’s anything wrong with cosmetic (or surgical) treatments, but because I guess it seemed kind of — I don’t know, almost sort of rude to myself in some way, to say, well, I’ve tried doing some crunches but fuck it, this shit isn’t going anywhere EVER, time to visit the medical salon. I’ve accomplished a lot, health- and body-shaping-wise, why not give myself the benefit of believing that I’ll be able to achieve even more in the next weeks and months?
It’s so easy to fall off the wagon when it comes to fitness and eating well, and part of what helps me keep feeling successful is focusing on the fact that I’m doing something positive for myself every time I cook a healthy dinner or strap on my sneakers. I’m learning that I can do more than I thought possible — I can run longer, I can lift a heavier weight, I can put in an exercise DVD even when I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the things I should be working on instead. I am teaching my kids about living a healthy lifestyle, I am fueling my body a thousand times better than I used to, I am taking proactive steps to pursue what I know helps me be a happier person . . . those feel like good things, the right things. A cellulite treatment seems like a step backwards for me, an unnecessary pinhole focus on a perceived fault — one that shouldn’t even be taking up space in my head right now.
That said, if my belly still looks like a partially deflated balloon a year from now, I’ll at least be able to say I tried my best, and either learn to live with it or check out other options. Never say never, unless it comes to wearing bikinis.
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