The other day I went to get my hair colored. As I was sitting in my stylists chair, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. When did I get so....well, for lack of a better word--FAT? As we discussed the color of highlights to put in my hair, I couldn't take my eyes of the pudgy girl sitting there staring back at me. My rockin' stylist, the Divine Ms. M, said she would like to add some caramel color. Mmmmm, caramel, I thought to myself. I could totally go for some caramels right now. Wait. What??? We are talking hair, here! I scolded myself and tried to stop thinking about the ooey-gooey goodness of burnt sugar treats.
I'm not sure when and how this happened. I used to be skinny. A long time ago, in the pre-baby era. Then came Mario and an additional 60 pounds. Right before Luigi came along, I joined a program--you know, the one with Points--and lost it all. Back to skinny jeans and tight sweaters. It was awesome. Then, Peach surprised us all and the pounds started to creep back on. Apparently when I am pregnant, I think it is ok to eat not just for 2, but 200. After Peach's arrival, I just never really lost again. It was just too much work and I was just too overwhelmed.
I actually thought I was doing ok, until I saw the spare tire that sits around my belly mocking me in the mirror. My first clue should have been that I still actually wear some of my maternity tops. Did I mention I have not been in the maternity way for more than 2 years now?
Since the birth of Peach, I have been on and off the diet wagon several times. I can do great for about 3 days. Then, when Thursday rolls around, I have to have a couple of drinks with our favorite shows. Since I had a couple of glasses of wine on Thursday, I decide that it would be ok to take the kids to Chick-Fil-A on Friday (and eat all of the waffle fries that they leave at the table when they go play). Of course, you can't have a Friday night without a beer to celebrate making it through the week. The next day is Saturday. Bowser is off for the weekend, the kids are home from school...might as well have donuts or pancakes for breakfast while we relax and watch cartoons. Do you see where I am going with this?
Then, by Sunday night, I feel gross and bloated and any weight that I might have lost in the first 3 days of the week is back. Usually accompanied by an extra few ounces. Yes. I count partial pounds. I might have a sickness.
Yesterday, I decided to get a new perspective on what I look like from someone else's point of view. So, I put on leggings and a tight tank top and had Bowser take my picture. I won't gross you out with details, let's just say there were tears involved.
Did you know that back in the Renaissance, curvy women were desirable? Big bosoms, wide hips and rounded bellies were all the rage. When did that change? Why can't we just be ok with our natural bodies? I want to embrace my curves, not hate them.
Alas, I do not live in the Renaissance period. I live in the new millennium. So, these curves are going to have to go. I am counting points again. I might--I said MIGHT!--even start adding exercise, which I LOATHE. Then again, maybe I should stick with baby-steps. Don't want to go totally crazy or anything.
This isn't going to be easy. I am already cranky just thinking about not being able to have a candy bar after the kids go to bed tonight. And my darling Doritos...I'm so very sorry to have to let you go. But, I can do this! I can! Right?