I've gotten some questions on the status of my recently-proclaimed re-dedication to diet and exercise, inspired in part by my upcoming 10th anniversary and also-upcoming first real vacation in 4 years and 5 months. It is going fine, thanks.
Actually, it is going sporadically, which is very in keeping with my personality and the way in which I apply myself to everything other than forcing my children to hug me, and including, over the past few months, this blog. (Could somebody open the windows in here? The dust is making me sneeze.) So sometimes, I have been EMPOWERED and DEDICATED and CHANGING MY LIFESTYLE and FOCUSING ON MY HEALTH and TAKING MY BODY BACK and MAKING MYSELF A PRIORITY FOR ONCE, GODDAMIT! And sometimes I have been oh, screw that empowered crap and that lifestyle bullshit and instead watch out because I am going to be a BRICK (duh duh duh duh) HOUSE. And sometimes I have really needed eight chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. And sometimes the children have simultaneously screamed for two solid hours and I have consoled myself with the careful application of an eight pound bag of chocolate chips.
There were many days when exercise was my PRIORITY and I was going to be STRONG and POWERFUL and HAVE ABS YOU COULD BOUNCE A QUARTER OFF OF. But there were just as many days when the combination of Jillian Michaels telling me about the feeling of fear leaving my body and Mia asking me eight questions a second while she "helped" me exercise was an insurmountable obstacle and I spent the time instead sprawled on the couch playing preschool with Little People.
So, in the past five weeks, I've lost a couple of pounds. Not nearly as many as I could have in the face of more dedication, but a couple. I'd go all truth-in-blogging and post the scale again, but the scale broke about two weeks ago and is of the firmly-held opinion that I currently weigh ERROR. I suppose I could replace it, and I usually take any opportunity for a trip to Target, but at the moment I am enjoying weighing ERROR and think I may as well continue until at least after my vacation.
But I'm a bit thinner, and my belly is a bit less flabby, and I am beginning to understand what a reasonable diet plan may be for me, incorporating plenty of protein and plenty of fruits and vegetables and plenty of cheating. And I'm working on finding a regular time in my day to exercise, but true daily exercise may have to just wait until my second child starts sleeping like a reasonable person and not like a rabid monkey bent on tormenting his caretaker.
So I did ok, I would like to do better, but more in terms of being active and eating in ways that make me feel healthy rather than ways that make me feel like a slug. And I admit it was somewhat gratifying yesterday when I went shopping for New York City pants (those are pants to wear in New York City, not some type of high-fashion pants about which you are totally in the dark while I am making the very latest trend my bitch, which I can assure you would never, ever happen), and I grabbed a pair that looked promising in an eight. And I had to take them back and get a six. And I had to take those back and get a four. And this is most certainly vanity sizing, since I have a collection of size four pants in my closet that I could zip only if I simultaneously split the back seam from waist to wazoo, but you better believe I bought those puppies, cause hey, size four pants.
And I mention that only so that I can mention this: the last time I posted about weight/diet/exercise, etc., I got quite a few comments about how I was thin and therefore shouldn't worry about such things. And that, frankly, made me a little annoyed. I would never tell you how you should feel about your body, why do you get to tell me how to feel about mine? But then I read this post from Swistle and had an ah-ha moment. Why yes, I'm sure it is grating to listen to someone saying oh boo-hoo, poor me and my size 4 ass when the easy assumption is that the size-4-ass-whiner would look even more disparagingly on a larger-than-size-4 ass, such as you yourself may be the proud owner of. And that, at least for me, is not the case. I don't call myself fat. (Well ok, once in a while to my husband but that is only to force him to jump in and swear that I am hotter than I have ever been.) I don't think that I am at the absolute outer edge of appropriate body size and everyone larger than me is by default over that line. I think most of us probably have a far harsher standard for ourselves than any we would ever consider applying to anyone else, and that if we were able to be truly objective about our own bodies we would find them far more acceptable than we are able to do while wearing them ourselves. If you were to see me naked, well, that would be inappropriate and awkward, now wouldn't it? But if you were to see me naked, you would likely conclude that, while I am generally pretty thin, my ass and thighs are definitely my Problem Areas. I would like my body to be a little different, but that has nothing to do with anything I may think about yours (which I usually have no opinion about anyway, seeing how it is none of my business).
Now, anybody want to hold hands and sing "Kumbaya?" I'll bring brownies.