The hubby and I went out for a celebratory dinner earlier this month. A rare night out on the town! Time to squeeze into my favorite jeans and blouse…a sleeveless silk top in a brown funky print (love TJ Maxx.) My mother-in-law snapped a few photos of us and when I saw them I didn’t look as cool and hip as I’d envisioned. The top I was wearing is a bit “blousy” in the front, so the souvenir pounds I have from pregnancy really make a difference between blousy and, er, bloated, seeing as I’m barely 5 feet 2 inches tall. Cafeteria ladies wearing hair nets are barely 5 feet 2. Sweet, blue-haired grannies are barely 5 feet 2. Twelve-year-olds are barely 5 feet 2.
Thank God for digital cameras and the easy edit option of photos I hate of myself. Delete!
I’m fortunate that I can still barely squeeze into my pre-pregnancy clothes and that’s contributed to my laziness. But with summer around the corner and the mere thought of putting on a bathing suit pushing my mental panic button like a game of Whac-a-Mole, I must get off my lazy tush and get physical. And lifting the girls into the bathtub and blog surfing don’t count. I had just started kickboxing when I got pregnant with Amelia in the summer of 2004. The teacher was an amazing woman…40 and a mom of FOUR. I felt empowered punching and kicking to AC/DC’s Thunder Struck and I sweated more in that hour than I had possibly sweated my entire life. I was sweating out my toenails and hair follicles. Once I made it through the first class without having a heart attack, I was hooked. But I quit the classes when I found out I was pregnant and it was a slow downward spiral into “make any excuse to not exercise.” These days when I step on the dreaded scale I am reminded that I weigh a bit more than I did last summer just a few months AFTER GIVING BIRTH. And that is depressing. I’m someone who is lucky enough to have never had to diet or really exercise much. I blame my recent weight gain on sheer laziness, my love for chocolate and cheese and anything sandwiched into a burrito, and the fact that I weaned Amelia during the holidays. Not a smart move.
Here’s a breakdown of the good, the bad, and the jiggly:
The Hair – Still looks pretty good, no gray hair that I can see. Have not pulled my hair out in chunks, but have pondered that a time or two in moments of sheer frustration during Caitlin’s drama diva episodes.
The Eyes – Slight wrinkles from too many sunbathing sessions in the 80s on my dad’s houseboat spent listening to Bob Marley and greasing up with suntain oil, not that wimpy SPF crap.
The Arms – Fairly toned from daily lifting of children into carseats (aka torturous back contortion devices). Starting to get that triceps flappin’ in the breeze thing, though.
The Boobs – Not terrible considering I’ve nursed two girls with vortex sucking action, but definitely leaning toward the saggy end of the boobometer.
The Tummy – Probably the most neglected. I’ve started doing crunches and I can already tell a slight difference. Hoorah! At one point pre-children I had actual DEFINITION in my abs. Sigh…that was in 1996. I keep cutting myself slack for the weird alien like movement of my abdomen because I’ve had two c-sections. Now that Amelia is one, however, that’s a lame excuse. Sucking the gut in as I type.
The Bootie – Mama needs a Buns of Steel bootie camp!
The Legs – If you’d told me 15 years ago I would have spider veins I would have balked. I’m seriously considering having them zapped as I’m not ready for granny legs. And my knees seem to be more crackly. That can’t be good.
So, that’s it. Not terrible, but not where I want to be. I would like to lose 7 to 10 pounds. My new motto is “Five By The Fourth,” as in lose five pounds by July 4th. I’ll be 37 in August and I really want to be a fit, energetic mama and not a Tivo Tater.