This mess laid the path of destruction.
As I’m sure you recall, it’s been about a year since I hit my Weight Watchers goal. A weight I was able to maintain for about a minute and a half, or (not coincidentally) the same amount of time it took me to drive straight to Taco Bell and reward myself with a Doritos Locos Taco. Three Doritos Locos Tacos.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m still far from where I started. But over the past year I’ve put on about eight of the pounds I worked so hard to take off.
Actually, it was a lot quicker than over the past year. I wish I could say it crept up slowly, the result of a slice of pumpkin pie here and an entire gallon of French Silk ice cream there. But no, sadly, after sixteen weeks of starving myself half to death out of fear of the weekly weigh in, I pretty much went hog freaking wild the first week after I hit my goal and eight pounds rushed straight to my mid-section in about five days.
And don’t you dare tell me that you lost a whole mess of weight on Weight Watchers and never felt hungry. I learned the hard way that’s one of those lies people tell you when they want to feel superior. Like “labor doesn’t hurt that bad – it feels a lot like menstrual cramps”, or “of course my STD tests came back negative.” Let me tell ya, this girl is smarter than she looks and I’m not falling for it anymore. I even got the WW “breastfeeding special” - 14 more points a day to compensate for feeding another person with my boobs and I was STILL ravenous.
So anyhoo, there I was, a week after my weigh in, standing on my scale at home, telling myself that I would slowly, but surely, take off that extra eight pounds over the course of a few weeks.
A year later and they still wish me a good morning every day I put on my jeans.
I get it – it’s simple math. Burn more calories than you take in and you’re going to lose weight. It worked for me, it works for everyone.
The problem is… I just don’t want to.
Maybe this is the lazy loser in me rearing its ugly head (as it does the majority of the time), but I think I’m okay with that. I don’t feel guilty about eating an extra piece of cake at birthday parties, and every once in a while I make a Starbucks run without having to first calculate how many bonus points I’ve accumulated this week by using lemon juice instead of salad dressing on my spinach and fresh air salad.
I mean, I’m not going to allow myself to get to a point where people ask me when I’m due or feel it’s necessary to buy the entire row when I fly. I work out three or four times a week, one of those usually being a run of 3-5 miles. I’m just saying that for now I see myself in the mirror and think, “meh… could be worse”, shrug my shoulders, and keep on walkin’.
Besides, my stomach is jacked up something fierce and I’ve been working some blogging side jobs to save up for plastic surgery anyway.
Nip and tuck, baby. Nip and tuck.
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You’re … me!
Minus the part where you work out every night while I eat banana nut Cheerios on my couch and watch Wheel of Fortune.
Came here via the Listen To Your Mother site. Congrats on being picked to read! I love your blog, along with your honest and funny approach to life! Kudos to you!
Thank you very much – I’m so glad you stopped by!
I never managed to hit goal. I don’t care anymore. I’m like you, I’m happy here. I know if I work out a bit more–and summer is coming soon–I’ll drop some more weight. I’m just not going to make myself miserable over it right now. The problem is my hubby–he’s over-weight and demands that I do something about it. Like, not buy cookies. I say, the cookies are for the kids! But nooooooo, if they’re in the house, he finds them and eats them. All.
Also, how in the hell did you carry a baby like that? My body built a nice comfy nest to surround and protect the child in a bubble of fat. Twice.
My husband is the same way. If there is an M and M anywhere in the house, oh say, to use to bribe the kids to not poop their pants or something, he will sniff it out and eat it. I’ve even hidden stuff in the impossible-to-get-to cabinet above the fridge, and somehow he detected that and devoured all of my chocolate negotiating power. Jerk. And, I look at my pregnancy pictures and I agree with you – it defies the laws of gravity that my stomach stuck out like that. I started having major back problems around week 10 and things just went downhill from there. It was hell.
I recently came to a similar realization. I lost 8 pounds (must be a lucky number) for my sister’s wedding. I was bangin’ in that dress. I lost the 8 pounds by limiting carbs and sugar. I lost my will to live in the process. As you so eloquently put it, it’s not like I have to go through double doors to leave the house or anything and my husband isn’t complaining, so why bother?
I have gained 7 of the 8 back and am pretty much over the extreme measures. Life is too short.
Exactly. I would eat my dinner in about two bites and have to sit and watch my family eat a regular sized portion, usually followed by a dessert of some kind. The will to live is a tricky thing, and I say it’s worth eight pounds to not constantly feel like your stomach is eating itself from the inside out.