The Weight

The other day Sam looked at me and said, "Mom, you're getting less fat!" Now, if anyone else had said those words to me, they might have gotten slapped in the face, but hearing it from my not-quite six year olds son made me beam.

I've been going to weight watchers meetings since January 4th. I've lost 14 pounds to date, and I'm feeling pretty good. The Wii no longer groans when I step on the balance board, and while my clothes aren't too big yet, they actually fit again. I've got a good amount of momentum propelling me onward. Plus my parents are in the program as well, so we work together. We share recipes and keep each other motivated. A little healthy competition never hurt anyone, right?

The last time I did this program I lost 50 pounds over the course of a year. About a pound a week. I'm hoping that with my strong start I'll be able to get there a little more quickly, but even if it takes me the whole year, I'm hoping for a spectacular (and skinny) new me in 2013.

Why Jillian Michaels and I Can't Be Friends Anymore

As you may recall, I've been on a campaign to lose weight. I had my cousin's wedding to get me started, but since then I've been losing momentum instead of pounds. I thought I'd remedy that by buying Jillian Michaels' Ripped in 30 dvd. I started it back in May, knowing full well that I wasn't going to get ripped in 30, but rather maybe ripped in 60. I like to alternate those short but intense workouts with longer cardio workouts.

Jillian's big thing is alternating strength, cardio and abs. To keep things really intense, her workouts include a lot of jumping and similar explosive motions. I didn't exercise at all during our vacation, so when we got back I decided to up the intensity a little by adding some jump rope intervals to my regular cardio. I use an elliptical machine 30 to 40 minutes at a time, so every 10 minutes I would jump off and jump rope for about a minute. And I kept doing the Ripped in 30 video workout every other day.

I made it all the way up until level 3 before I injured myself. I've come down with a nasty case of the Turf Toe. Yes, the injury most often found among professional football players and ballerinas has descended upon a West Virginian house wife just trying to make her ass a bit smaller.

And you know, you don't really realize how often you use the end of your foot/big toe area until you injure it. Simple tasks like kicking around my blankets at night, or leaning over to hoist Maggie out of her crib all aggravate my injury. It's not severe, so the only thing I can do about it is tape it and rest it, but with 4 kids rest isn't really an option.

So I hobble through my day, while still trying to get in my workouts, minus the jumping. Because if I have to choose between a big ass and a sore toe, I'll take the pain over the gain.

Losing It

I've never been one of those girls who has lost the baby weight because of nursing. I know several other mamas who practically melted after their babes were born, but my body seems to be programmed to hold onto weight after birth. I guess it's to protect us from starvation in case of a long winter or something. Evolutionary WIN, but pants size FAIL. Plus, breast feeding makes me absolutely ravenous. It's like, as soon as milk starts flowing, my tummy starts rumbling, and if he takes his time feeding, my fingers start looking pretty appetizing.

In the past, I've never had any major motivation to lose my baby weight by any particular time. After Sam was born we moved to Atlanta, and I was so busy packing and unpacking that dieting was the last thing on my mind. Then once Lucy was born we moved back to Philly, and again there was so much going on that I couldn't really focus on losing weight. After Maggs was born I did start going to Weight Watchers again, but then I got pregnant and, well, now here I am with a one month old and a bridesmaid dress to wear in sixteen days.

Yes, I am in a wedding at the end of this month. Talk about motivation!

My dear cousin Laura is getting hitched, and I agreed to be in the wedding before I was knocked up. I ordered my dress early in the second trimester, but I knew it would be dicey. The dresses are from J Crew, and I ordered the largest size I could, but my bust measurements were already pushing the limits. After Freddie was born, I gave myself one week before I even attempted to try on the dress.

You can probably imagine how that went.

Luckily, two weeks later, my boobs had gone from having their own gravitational field to simply humongous, and I was able to get into the dress. Not that it was comfortable or anything. And wearing a bra is pretty much out of the question, because even the thickness of the fabric makes it not fit. I took it to a few tailors to see if I could get it let out a little on top, but there isn't any extra material in the seams to give me some (literal) breathing room.

So drastic times have called for drastic measures.

I've reverted back to my pre-Sam-pregnancy eating habits, which is when I was at the thinnest I've ever been in my adult life. It's been tough, and I frequently feel like eating the coffee table seems like a delicious idea. But after only a week, I am seeing some fairly promising results. So I'm hoping that by the times this wedding rolls around, I'll be able to not only wear my bridesmaid dress, but wear it without crying.

Wish me luck!

Shreddin' Like a Felon

So I haven't blogged much this week. Why, you ask? Because every muscle in my body, including the ones in my fingers, are searing. I decided to embark upon the 30 Day Shred thing by Jillian Michaels.

Yes, I've become a Shred Head.

I started eight days ago, and it's been going well. I've been working out almost daily since Maggs turned two months old, but haven't been seeing any changes on the scale. So I've been trying to keep with my regular workouts at the Y, and then I add in the shred either right when we get home or once the kids are "napping" in the afternoon. It's a bit intense some days, but it seems to be getting the job done. I'm just worried about traumatizing my neighbors as I do jumping jacks in my dining room.

Plus I've been trying to really, actually watch what I eat. You know, instead of simply staring at the pizza I'm about to devour and calling it 'watching what I'm eating.' I bought some Quaker weight control instant oatmeal and I have to give it two enthusiastic thumbs up. I make it for breakfast around 8am and don't get hungry again until almost 2pm. And it tastes pretty good as well. I've also started cutting out all booze Sunday through Thursday. I don't need the extra calories in a glass of wine (or three) on the daily. So far, so good.

So I hope you'll forgive the silence. I need to get to a point where my Wii Fit balance board doesn't groan when I step onto it. And when Sam doesn't ask if the baby in my belly is a boy. And when at least half of the clothes in my wardrobe fit again.

File Under: Lessons, Learned

No matter how hungry you are from dieting, don't try and eat your own tongue.

The more elaborate version of the story goes like this...

I've been trying to watch what I eat, and eat a little less in general, which is good! I'm dealing with a lot more belly flab this post partum period, and it's driving me nuts. Unfortunately by dinner time I'm hungry enough to eat my own face off. I know that eventually my body will get used to the sensation and the feeding urge will die down, so I'm just trying to make it through these first few weeks with all of my facial features intact. But last night I almost failed. I was so hungry by dinner time that as soon as I put food into my mouth, it was like I couldn't chew and swallow fast enough. And in my haste I chomped my own tongue to a bloody pulp at one end.

The good news is, my flipping tongue hurts so badly I can barely eat anything at all. So I guess in the end it was an effective dieting technique. Maybe I should market this idea and make millions. Then I could just get the fat sucked out and be done with this dieting business forever!

On Motions, and Going Through Them

Shall I bore you to death with the details of my latest episode of sleeplessness? No? How about I regale you with the tale of last night's 11:30pm puke party in Sam's room? Wait, strike that. It's basically the precursor to the insomnia story, which you already said you didn't want to hear.

Shall I tell you then of my hopes and desires to have another little chubby baby girl? You know, for my Lulu to boss around and my Sammy to protect one day? And how each month that passes makes me think that those new, sweet baby cheeks are somehow fading and slipping ever so slowly though my fingertips? No? Too depressing? Ok then, moving on.

How about a story about the half nekkid 300 pound lady at the gym? She hopped on the elliptical machine to my right and every two minutes removed an article of clothing until I was ready to bolt. Luckily she stopped at the sports bra and biker shorts. And that was just on the right side of me. On the left side was a young jock-ish type who kept touching his junk with just his index and middle finger. Over and over and over. 

Not that interesting either, right?

I'm going back to bed. Wake me up in 2009.

What Is My Motivation?

My friend Marcello just got a new iphone for his birthday and I am so bitter! And jealous! And I can't even pretend not to be. I suck.

But, there is a silver lining!

Since my success with the biggest loser at the Y I've kinda-sorta-maybe gotten a little lazy with my healthy eating plan. Right after the Y contest was over we went on vacation. Then the rest of the summer has been a frenzy of traveling back and forth to Pittsburgh. I have a hard time turning down pizza from the shop where I worked in high school and candy apples from Kennywood. 

Or combos on the PA turnpike, for that matter. Gross, right? 

So even though I haven't entirely undone the good work I did during biggest loser, I'm still up a few pounds. Which means next week I'm going back to Weight Watchers. I'm also going to try walking more in addition to my regular workouts now that the weather isn't so molten. Instead of driving the kids to the playground we're going to hitch up the old double stroller and go on foot. Instead of driving a few blocks to pick up the dry cleaning we'll hoof it. I've been walking Sam to school for the last 2 weeks and it's been great, aside from the oozing, bloody blisters I got on the first day. 

How does this all tie into my bitter, blinding jealousy over my friend's new iphone?

Simple! It's going to be my reward. My prize. My destiny. When I achieve my goal weight at WW (and maintain it for 6 weeks) then I get an iphone. It's just that simple. The faster I get there, the faster I get my iphone. Last time it took me almost a year to lose 65 pounds. I'm don't need to lose quite that much, so I'm hoping to be a bit quicker.

And I'm hoping that SOB will agree to this plan, too! 

I Forgot To Mention This...

And you know what makes it even sweeter?


The three bills that came along with the certificate! I was very happy with the final results. I officially lost 17 pounds during this contest, but if I were a betting woman I would wager that I gained at least a few back on vacation. The woman who came in first place was so far and away ahead of everyone else I knew there was no way I could catch her. She works at the front desk and is the nicest. lady. ever. so if I had to lose to someone I'm glad it was her! I'm still far, far away from my ultimate goal, but that's ok. With my past weigh loss endeavors, the slow and steady losses were the ones that stuck better. The Y is going to do another Biggest Loser beginning in January and my goal is not to participate. Because I'm already all skinny-fied, see?

Wish me luck!

Updates on Every Mother-Loving Thing

First, Sam.

Big bed status: Fair. He loves the bed and his new room. However, just today he realized that there is nothing physically holding him in there. He's been 'taking a nap' since 12:30 (it's 2pm as I write this) and every 15 minutes I have to go up and peek under his door. Guess what I see? Two little feet romping about. I've started with the empty threats, such as, 'If you don't stay in your bed and take a nap, I'm going to have to take all the toys and books and put them in Mommy's room.' That would not be fun. Anyway, the poor kid is exhausted, so I'm hoping he'll stick to the mattress this time.

Speech therapy status: Good/Excellent. We had our first visit from the speech therapist on Friday afternoon. She was very nice and Sam charmed the pants off of her. Luckily for me she had on nice underwear. Almost as if he knew what was happening, and how it would make me insane, he's started picking up 5-6 new words A DAY! All of a sudden we're saying 'purple' and 'bubble' and 'phone' and all sorts of other shit. He started all of this on Friday morning. I was in the kitchen making breakfast and he strolls in and says, clear as a bell, 'Apple?' while pointing at some fruit on the counter. I was dumbstruck. At first I actually thought he was saying 'purple' because there was a purple dish up there, too. But he looked at me like I was nuts and said, 'No mommy. Apple.'

Guess how many apples Sammy ate on Friday? I'd estimate one bushel plus half a peck. Try saying no to him. Betcha can't do it!

We'll see the therapist every other week for three months and then re-asses. I'm optimistic. So is she!

On to Lucy!

Not much to report here other than that she's maintaining her post as the world's happiest, chubbiest baby with charm and grace. And a lot of drool. We can never have too much saliva, that's what I always say. She's also doing this new, insanely adorable thing where she looks at you for a minute, and then tilts her head to the side to see if you still look the same. I'd love to take a picture, but I collapse into a puddle of gooey maternal hormones every time I see her like that. Her undeniable deliciousness is making it really hard not to want more babies.

More practicially speaking, we're trying out a new kind of eco-friendly diaper called gdiapers. Will report back on that at a later date!

My brother!

Break-up status: Incomplete. What he doesn't realize is that he needs to band-aid this thing. The longer he holds on and drags it out, the more miserable he's making himself. But I can't tell him that. So we wait. And wait. And wait. Fun times!

SOB: Still brewing away!

Me:

Fat status: Six of one, half dozen of another. I recently started a Biggest Loser type contest at the Y. I lost 4.5 pounds in the first week. Which is awesome except that I've lost and gained those same pounds three times since we've lived here in Philly. So if next week rolls around and I lose some more, then I'll be happier. For now, I'm just on the way there.

Insanity status: Code red. We're having a big party on Saturday night and we're having 4 house guests over the weekend. Am I crazy? Yes I am!

Alright! I'm off to puree some squash and sweet potatoes! The boy's nap seems to have worked this time!

Finding My Rhythm

Life with two babies is finally getting marginally predictable. Sam's eat/nap/eat/poop schedule is solid as a rock, and Lucy, while still a little fluid, is getting the gist of things. Most weekdays I make it to the gym, and then I actually shower afterwards! I made these Valentines for Sam's class, which prompted several people to tell me how I was such a good mother.

(Really? Because I melted some crayons? Spread the word unfit parents of the world! All you need is 30 minutes and a busted up 64 pack of Crayola's to win mother of the year!)

But then I look around and see that a bunch of the internets are pregnant again, and I start thinking. And I wonder, is it true that the 2-to-3 transition is a piece of cake? Do I want to contemplate even a crumb of that cake? Does my ass really need more cake?

(I mean that both figuratively and literally, by the way.)

A few months back I mentioned how our cracked out health insurance wouldn't cover any contraceptives for moi. They're happy to pay tens of thousands of dollars for prenatal care and labor and delivery, but not $900 for an IUD. This week SOB and I finally got around to discussing how we wish to deal with that whole issue. We decided to wait until fall, when his company's open enrollment period begins, and change our plan. We've vowed to "be careful" until then. Which is kind of a joke considering we were "being careful" when I got pregnant with Lucy. Is that some kind of silent endorsement from both of us for a third?

I don't really know. I guess we'll find out sometime between now and October!

--

P.S. Here are some purdy flowers that I got on February 13th. I don't know, either.



Double P.S. We've also had our first official poop on the potty, along with several more pees!

A:

Janet asks: who was your first pre-teen celebrity crush? Kirk Cameron, hands down.

Mrs. Chicken wants to know: why "Cheese Party" and what's with the obsession with putting your head in a hole and taking pictures? First, the title. It was, honestly, a random association of two things I love. Initially this blog had a horrible name, so after my second or third post I decided to change things up. 'Cheese' and 'Party' seemed to fit my odd-ball personality and my penchant for soirées.

And the head holes? Are a riot. Sam and Lucy will be forced into these types of photographs for their entire minor-hood.

Chrissie queries: My question is ... when is the next hot hands tournament? Tell your husband to BRING IT ON! I'm not playing, though. Can't risk injuring my delicate hands. I'll just document!

Lora inquires: (I'm going to take this one point by point since she's asked several)

-My question is-Do you feel older? Not really. I feel fatter, but I'm working on that.
-How old do you feel? Maybe a little younger than I am. But then I remind myself that I'm a member of the Woman's Club and then I feel older.
-How old do you think you look? I'm not sure. You tell me! I won't be offended. I swear!

I'm the one in the middle, holding the adorable baby

-How old do you think other people think you look? See my answer to the last question. And click on the picture to make it big so you can really see all the details.
-Did you think you'd have kids by now? Yes. My mom was 19, so before I really knew any better, I thought that's when I'd have my first kid, too.
-Did you want to have kids by now? Yes. I knew I was getting hitched to SOB at 17, and we started talking about babies before we were 20. We knew we were too young and too poor to actually have any, but the idea was in the pipeline.
-What did you want to have accomplished by 29 that you did? My main goal as a youth was to move far away from home. I only made it 300 miles, but they're a long 300. Pittsburgh and Philly are about as different as they come, so I feel much farther away. Oh, and being happily married to someone I love more than pizza. Lots of other things, too, but I'm too tired to catalog them.
-That you didn't? I always had very lofty (and somewhat strange) goals as a young woman. I wanted to save the leopard population through a series of genetically specific mate parings. I wanted to win a Tony award. Just to name a few.
-Does 30 freak you out? Not at all. I've never been an ageist. As long as I can keep up with my kids I'll be forced feel young. Although I did get an AARP card in the mail last week.
-What do you consider "old"? 78. Really. Up until then it's dependent upon the individual. My two grandmothers are almost the same age, but one seems 20 years younger than the other. Once you're late in the septuagenarian years, though, you're old.
-Has it changed in the last few years? Nope.

HBM questions: what's your view on birthdays in general? Do they get better or worse? I've always loved my birthday, and hopefully always will. The presents get worse for a little while and then they get better again. Between those odd teen years where no one knows what to get you and then the early adult years where no one can afford to get you anything they kind of suck. Not that I'm materialistic or anything. I just like presents. And you don't?

Susan ponders: What is the one thing that you do that you would lie, lie, lie about if anyone ever caught you doing it? Picking my nose. We all do it, but none of us (including me) want to admit it! Incidentally, what do you think would happen if you never picked your nose? Would you get a giant booger obstructing your nasal passages?

And finally, Anonymous wonders: How do you see you life, your family, all around you, in 5 years? Perhaps we'll be in the same neighborhood, but maybe in a bigger house (maybe because we'll have another baby, but don't tell SOB I said that!) Sam will be in 2nd grade and Lucy in 1st, so we'll be busy, I'm sure. Hopefully I'll be at least a little thinner. Lucy and her new BFF Liliana will make each other friendship bracelets. SOB and I will go on vacation for our 10th anniversary, sans children. Sam will win the class spelling bee. All will be right with the world, just like it is now.

Mrs. Chicken Really Gets Me

Like Mrs. Chicken, I've been doing Weight Watchers. So far, I've dropped six pounds in three weeks! Although I've sacrificed many, many things for the sake of my waistline, I will never, ever give up half and half in my coffee! And you know I'm serious by the size of the container.

Oh, and there's this! How could I not love this woman?

Mass

I started back to Weight Watchers last week. Getting back to the program is tougher than I thought, though. I've had more than enough time to re-establish old (bad) habits. I only gained 27 pounds with Lucy, but I had gained nearly 30 pounds in between birthing Sam and getting pregnant with the lass. Which put the post-partum me just a few pounds shy of my heaviest weight ever. Throw in some pregnancy-related belly/boob sag and you've got the makings of one sad housewife.

I'm happy to report that I lost 3.2 pounds during the first seven days. Now if I can just muster enough stick-to-it-ive-ness, I should be ok.

--

Sorry for the shortage of posts lately. We're having electrical work done on the house and are depending on the neighbor's wireless, which is spotty at best!

Borderline

In other boob-related news...

(Don't you just love when posts start out that way?)

On Monday I took Lucy down to the lactation center at the hospital where Sam was born to have her weighed. Gaging from her outfits I could tell the kid was growing, but I wanted some hard numbers. Let me just tell you that 'the girls' are working hard. She tipped the scale at twelve pounds two days shy of turning seven weeks old. Since SOB was the one actually weighing her, at first I assumed he hadn't done it correctly. Never mind that fact that he's a doctor, I made the woman working there come over and 'help' him re-weigh her. Guess what? They do teach you to weigh babies in med school, 'cause his weight was correct. That means she gained three pounds in four weeks. Almost one and three quarter ounces a day. If I'm making such mean breast milk, then why isn't my ass getting any smaller? (More on that later!)

Speaking of 'the girls,' while I was there I decided to try on a few nursing bras. They had some really pretty ones, and I feel guilty just using the scale. The way I figure, as long as I act like I might buy something then I can use the scale with a clear conscience. Don't ask me why this rationale works for me. It just does. Anyway! I took a few bras off the rack and headed for the dressing room. I had pulled the largest sizes I could find from the rack, but my rack wouldn't fit into any damn one of them! I politely asked through the curtain if they had any larger sizes. All of a sudden the worker lady pulled back the curtain and descended upon me with her tape measure. The main reason none of the bras fit was because I am now officially a D cup. Actually, according to worker lady, I'm more of a D-bordering-on-E cup.

Um, What?

Before I had Sam, I was one of those barely B cup girls. For reals. Now my boobs are hugely out of control. Now I'm one of those girls who can't buy bras in the regular store. Well, since I'm nursing I wasn't buying bras in the regular store anyway, but you get my drift.

I'm calling the entire experience 'the afternoon of the ever expanding tot and amazing expanding tits!'

Taking Stock

I mentioned the other day that I'm going to Dinner A'Fare, which is one of those places where you make a shitload of food and then freeze it for future dinners. I love the idea of this because #1: I hate chopping things and #2: I have little or no creativity when it comes to cooking. I only make the things that I make, if you follow my meaning. If I taste something I like at someone else's house, I might try and repeat the recipe at home if, and only if, it would be simple enough for a one-armed six year old to make.

I have run into one slight problem, though. We have a fairly small freezer, and a few weeks ago I went berserk while grocery shopping. You see, Lean Cuisine was majorly on sale, so I bought, oh about twenty or thirty of them. Add to that the seven hundred freezer bags full of multi-colored cubes of baby food (Yes, I am that mother. Don't hate me, please.) the two wine chiller thingies, and the frozen core for the ice cream machine that Dr. SOB insists on keeping frozen AT ALL TIMES (even though we haven't made ice cream since we moved here five months ago) and I have no place to store the food I just paid $147 dollars for.

To remedy this situation, I took inventory of all of the Lean Cuisines and formulated a meal plan for the next week and a half. During the day, I will continue my Special K diet, but every night for dinner I will feast on Lean Cuisine. I will mix some things like Santa Fe Rice and Beans and Three Bean Chili together for a Tex-Mex style dinner. Also, because I tend to buy two of things I know I like, I'll just cook up double for a dinner-sized portion some nights. The good news is that since they are true to their name, i.e. lean, even a double portion keeps me well within my Weight Watcher's points range.

The Dr. is happy about this solution. He is glad that I am so resourceful to have thunk up this grand scheme. He's also glad because he gets to eat Wendy's, or whatever else he has a yearning for, every night until I free up the freezer space. It's a win/win in his mind.

Fatty Fat Fat: Part Three (and Some Other Randon Stuff)

Remember last time how I was soooooo excited that I lost three pounds? Well, I was so excited that I went out and gained them back, plus one! I guess unhappy me + 117 chocolate chip cookies from Publix = four pounds. God damn those things are tasty. So to combat the rouge poundage, I am on the Special K Red Berries diet, where you eat Special K Red Berries for breakfast and lunch and a sensible dinner. Also, and this is important to note, you never poop again. Not really, but when you switch from Fiber One to Special K, things tend to get a little, um, backed up, if you get my drift! Anyway, because I do much better with these kind of things when I am organized, I spent Sam's afternoon nap portioning out 14 servings of cereal into baggies, that way all I need to do is grab one, splash on some milk and have at it. Today, I plan to portion grapes. Isn't my life so exciting? Please god, for Christmas someone please buy me this!

In other news, have you noticed my pretty new ads? Don't you just feel compelled to click on one? C'mon, click one, you know you want to. All the cool kids are clicking them. Click one, damn you, or we're not friends anymore!

Just kidding! We're totally BFF, right?

Another way I'm trying to make me some money is by whoring out my kid. Also kidding. We sent in his pictures to a few local talent agencies and he's generated some interest! I fielded a phone call today from an agent hoping to get him work soon, and then we'll be able to buy some new and exciting things. Like baby gates. Whoopee! We've decided to take the lazy parenting approach and instead of affixing each cabinet and drawer with a lock, we're just boarding up all of the areas where any perceivable hazards could exist, i.e. the kitchen and bathrooms. We're quite clever!

Well, that about covers it. Tune back in tomorrow to hear me bitch about how much I hate our apartment!