Saturday, December 31, 2011

It's the end of the 2012

Let's all just hope the Mayans got it wrong, that they were just so busy with the whole Spaniards conquering their land, spreading disease, murdering them stuff, they simply forgot to finish the calender. I'm sure they didn't realize the inspiration their little unfinished product would have on future authors, scientists, historians, and Hollywood. As a result, I could spend the new year collecting canned goods, putting the finishing touches on my bomb shelter, and of course, getting my gun collection organized for the impending apocalypse, but, I really don't have the time-hell, some days I'm not even sure if I've brushed my teeth, can't focus on this end of the world business.  

That being said, I guess I could reflect on everything 2011 has brought me and my family... unfortunately, a smaller waistline is not one of them! I'm actually ending the year weighing approximately 20 pounds more than I started, I'm sure the baby that will be exiting in the next two weeks could play a HUGE role in that, but, I've been wrong before. I wanted a big change when I started 2011, since 2010 had sucked a pile of donkey balls. My husband said "this is our year," I've heard that one before, heck, I had been saying that since approximately 1995 to no real avail. So, I had to look at 2011 and think that magically, the new year would bring me something better, that this bad luck streak had to , eventually end, that Murphy and his law had grown bored with me and decided to move on to someone else. As I spent today scrolling through my countless Facebook friends flipping 2011 off and throwing up the deuces, I can't help but smile, knowing that for once, I wasn't the cruel joke of yet another year. Instead, we have been amazingly blessed and to sit and list all the blessings would take me forever, so, I really should only hit on the high points, more than that would just be bragging. 

If you have kept up with my blogs or read my opening paragraph, you are aware of my pregnancy...after 4 boys, my husband and I were not only blessed with another pregnancy, but, a little girl. Our little one should be here in the next couple of weeks, doing everything in my power to keep her in until she hits the 37 week full term mark. This pregnancy has been interesting to say the least--to digress from my initial weight issues would be wrong, being that this whole blog was to document weight loss, and don't worry, it will return to the same very soon! Being pregnant is hard enough on the body, but, when you enter into a pregnancy already overweight, it does not make for the most pleasant experience. I started off with back issues--to be fair, I acquired the initial injury playing Xbox Kinnect, I was a dancing fool for 5 straight hours, but, when I decided to "drop it like it's hot" I didn't quite get back up. Once I could no longer numb the pain with motrin and muscle relaxers, I could feel the damage I had actually done, 9 months later, I still feel it every minute of every day. When the little angel is not sitting on my sciatic nerve, she enjoys burrowing herself into my pelvis...which is basically a mass of mush after 4 kids. The ligaments, muscles, and bones that are supposed to support my fat ass have flipped me the bird, instead, causing me such extreme pain, I not only walk like a hunch back due to my back, but, this weird waddle from my pelvis feeling that at any moment, it's going to split in half!! If the physical pain wasn't enough, I experienced weird dizzy spells, fainting, and heart palpitations quite often the first few months of my pregnancy. Being a fluffy girl, the doctors would blow me off, I mean, of course my body was going to have issues, I'm practically bovine! Never crossed their minds I could be anemic, fat chicks don't get anemia, right??? WRONG, this fat girl had to go on prescription strength iron to start feeling human again. Of course, they didn't discover this until I was 5 months into this pregnancy and demanded they figure out what the hell was wrong with me!!! So, once I had all of this mess under control, it was time for the lovely gestational diabetes test, I've always passed, whether fat or thin, I figured my results would be the same. I mean, the check list of "people who will most likely get GD" should have been a warning sign: "Women over 30" CHECK, "Women of hispanic origin" CHECK, "Women with a family history of diabetes" CHECK, "Women who are overweight" DOUBLE CHECK. Well, guess what--Murphy took a break from messing with my Facebook friends to get one more jab at me. TWO days before Halloween, I get the results that I do, in fact, have gestational diabetes. As a result, the trick or treaters that hit my house got tootsie rolls and dots--if I can't enjoy Halloween candy, neither can they!!!! Suck on THAT obnoxious kid dressed like spiderman, he sucks, and now, so does the candy I just gave you. 

With the aches and pains, the lack of chocolate cake, carbs, and all things sugar, I wouldn't trade any of it for the world. It's only 9 months of misery for a lifetime of happiness. If this is what I had to go through to have another kiddo, then, so be it. I'm thankful that I was able to not only have another child, but, a little girl....take the good with the sugar free crappy. Now, aside from all the great baby stuff, my husband and I were tweeking the financial, career, school, balancing act. Michael began working towards his degree in Computer Science while working at Apple Inc. We have been holding tight, but, I knew my husband wanted something bigger and better career wise--but, without that damn degree, it seemed every position he dreamed of, was virtually unattainable. That is, until one of his computer professors asked for his resume and offered to send it out to some techie places, saying with Michael's military experience, amazing computer skills, and sparkling personality, he would land something. Not only did he land "something" he landed the dream gig. We were so used to the "other shoe dropping" we almost couldn't believe the position, title, or the paycheck. My husband not only began working for a company that has high morals and ethics, but, one that genuinely cares about it's employees, really is a place my husband can see growing and succeeding. Now, if we could only get our credit together to get the house and the car (although, my van with a tapedeck is pretty sweet) we will have it made!!! Like everything, it's all a work in progress...I'm proud of how far we have come, and incredibly proud that we have done it on our own--we stuck it out, even in the hardest times, knowing that eventually, it would come together. 

Serious crap aside, this year has brought us a lot of laughs, some tears, and with 4 boys, my fill of fart jokes, comments about boobs, and a kid starting middle school. I've had to intercept countless hussy photos being sent to my oldest son, Sean, over text messages...I mean, what about a bathroom mirror and a camera makes a girl think "ya, this is the backdrop I want to make you swoon." Then again, my other favs are full length mirrors in ridiculously messy bedrooms. Clean your rooms and bathrooms girls, guys don't want to see your dirty underwear in big piles, or the box of tampons sitting on top of your toilet in the background. My 6th grade kid thinks it's gross, imagine what the rest of us think. Mind you, my 11 year old doesn't have the cleanest room in the world, but, he's also not taking booty shots with his phone and sending them out. This generation shocks me, my son is only 11 and already has aggressive little girls coming after him--as his mom, it makes me want to take a picture of him while he's sleeping with his stuffed pink cow, transformer pillow, and mass quantities of legos strewn about and send it to the hussies--he's a still a little boy, he still calls me "mommy," he has a high school reading level, is in honors courses, and trust me, he isn't interested in your scrawny, awkward 6th grade booty in a bathroom mirror photo shoot. In fact, he shows them to me and laughs...move along hussies, I'm sure there's some boy with big dreams of working the drive thru that will appreciate your pics, leave my kid alone!

While I try to intercept the whore pics, I also have Ryan and Zachary to tend to. Ryan who is going through the "I'm not sure if I want to be a pro skateboarder, or a football player, uhm, can you major in Boyscouts in college?" At 9. I think anything is possible, and I let him dream big, even if he mentioned playing pro ball with the Philidelphia Eagles, which almost had me kick him out of the house. He has become the "defender of mommy" meaning, if his other 2 brothers start acting like fools, he puffs up and tells them to quit messing with me and stressing me out or he's taking them all down. Being that Ryan can take both of them down with little to no effort, they listen, don't mess with my blonde haired, blue eyed hulk, he will take you down. As for Zach, oh, I don't even know where to begin. That boy keeps me on my toes, he's 7, and has so much drama in his 2nd grade classroom I wonder if it belongs on the Jersey Shore. Even worse, when I visit him at school, I know the stories of all the little kids, which ones eat their boogers, which ones dont wash their hands after taking a poop, and which one's mom is a stripper...I judge 7 year olds, I sit at the lunch table and think "you're the booger eater, you should eat your lunch and actually fill up on that" or "you're mom is a stripper, you should have nicer clothes." I'm a terrible person, I blame Zach for filling my head with these stories...yet, I look forward to hearing what drama has transpired behind the slides that afternoon. 

The two year old has made huge strides this year, Sammy has always taken his time doing everything. He didn't show an interest in walking until he was 18 months old, then he proceeded to go from crawling  to the middle of the room, standing up, and taking off. This makes me think he knew how to walk for a lot longer and had just been taking advantage of us carrying him. When he wasn't talking by his 2nd birthday, I called in the speech therapists, who agreed that he had speech delays. Once we got everything set up, weekly therapy visits arranged, and my schedule inundated with speech and doctor appointments, Sammy decided to start talking. Again, I believe the child is just messing with me--some days I just look at him and thank God that he blessed me and my husband with an excessive amount of vodka one night that led to the conception of such a cool little kid. In fact, now that I think about it, I think I have 4 really cool kids, all that were conceived on some kind of alcoholic beverage--except the girl, go figure. Maybe that's the secret to having the girl vs the boy, we will never really know. 

When it's all done and said, and the big shiny ball drops, our family is welcoming in 2012 with open arms, not because we can't wait for 2011 to be over, rather, to see what next year has in store for us, other than the apocalypse, countless documentaries on the Mayans, and the end of the world. To all of those that have followed my blog, facebook page, or had the fortunate honor of my random ramblings via text, phone calls, or in person, I wish you all a Happy New Year. I plan on hitting the weight loss blog the minute this kid pops out...or at least when I can figure out where I keep my laptop and a well formulated thought. As a future mother of 5, I'm surprised I can even breathe and walk at the same time most days.

Peace my bebes,

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

oops, I did it again...a few times actually--

Oh, it has been MONTHS since I have fed my little bloggie birdies and I apologize for the delay, I promise NOT to disappoint!! I am happy to report I lost 100 pounds, I am walking the runways of Milan for fashion week, I live on a clean diet of carrots, coffee, and purging, and I fit into a size -2. Just kidding, I got knocked up again and actually gained 10 pounds...only runway I'll be walking is in the hospital labor & delivery unit trying to get a child out of my uterus.

So, I could ramble on about how beautiful creating life is (when we all know it really only takes a few glasses of wine, a dirty movie, and the after glow of a cigarette), but, in my case it was science, hard work, and as much fun as a root canal. Mostly because my pregnancy prep started back in January--when this weight loss voyage began. After the whole tumor, losing and ovary, thing a year ago, I thought life would go back to normal, I would be able to conceive effortlessly when I wanted to, and things would be wonderful. That is, until they found another cyst attacking the only ovary I had left. There I was, sitting in my doctors office in a tshirt and the little paper blanket around my waist (which really doesn't make that experience any more comfortable) being told "you may not have years to have another baby, I'm not even sure if you have months...I wish I could tell you this is going to be easy, but, it may not be." Basically, the birth control pill is the only thing that keeps those rascally cysts away, if I wanted to reproduce, I had a small window to get off the pill and get knocked up before the damn things started growing back. 

I knew losing weight was my first frontier in all of this--second, it was getting on a better diet, exercise, and major planning. There were rumors a flutter that teachers were about to get fired in Texas, lots of us, but, I didn't worry about those pesky little details, I had a treadmill SCREAMING my name. I started taking vitamins, supplements, and lost about 20 pounds when I went back to the twat doc in March--time was not on my side, it was a "now or never" conversation, this came about a week before I found out my job was going the way of Texas Legislation, down the shitter. My husband and I had "the talk," knowing my paycheck was in jeopardy, he needed to find a better job, we needed to save, and oh, we kinda need to get started on this baby making thing--oh, and it needed to be a girl, because, if I was going to get knocked up again and this may be my last shot, I'll be damned if this fetus has another damn penis (I know, it just has to be healthy, but DAMNIT, unless you have been on the other side of the gooey ultrasound seeing ANOTHER penis and balls staring back at you, shut up). So, I put my degree in "Google" to work, hit Barnes and Noble, and tried to figure out how I could help this fetus not grow a wiener. 

I had the diet down...low sodium (which is hard for a person who likes salt on their salt, and still doesn't think it's enough), no red meat (I would eat raw cow if it was safe), lots of veggies, lots of fruits (but none of my favorites, they can't be high alkaline, somehow gives the boy sperm super powers), took calcium supplements, cranberry supplements, some crazy elixer I got off Amazon, and the last two--lemon rinses and warm ball soaks. Oh yes, there was no dignity in making this baby, that went the way of my husband lying in a hot bathtub while I put lemonade where it should never go. We also timed ovulation (thanks again, Amazon for you uber cheap ovulation and pregnancy tests, $3 buck total for like 25 of those suckers!), only Michael could enjoy the moment, which, by the way could only be the good baptist way--it was like high school...I mean, my "wedding night" all over again... (because we all know I saved myself for that). He was only allowed to thrill me up until the day I ovulated, then he was to keep himself and his junk as far away as possible--we had this down to an art form, I had been planning this for months, so, when the time came to put it into action (seriously, no pun intended), I went off the pill mid March, and we started "trying" (I hate that term) May 6th  I found out I was pregnant May26th...take THAT modern science--I'm still ridiculously fertile with only one ovary. 

Now, the waiting game sucks...meaning, 6 weeks for that first appointment, waiting 12 weeks to get out of the scary zone, waiting 17 weeks to find out if the child has sprouted a penis, waiting 24 weeks until "viability," and waiting 37 weeks until you are considered full term. I am currently almost 21 weeks--at 13 weeks, I went to see the high risk specialist to have the scary tests done, see if baby was developing ok, oh ya, and since baby was being cooperative, the opportunity to see it's bits and pieces. This specialist is one of the top high risk doctors in Austin, I have always remained very polite, non crass, and reserved in her presence--that is, until she went up in between the legs and told me what little one was hiding--I'm not sure if it was the "Are you shitting me?!?!" or the "You have got to be fucking with me...seriously?!?" that caught her off guard, but, she simply smiled and said "it's still a little early, I can't give you 100%, but, yes...just hold onto receipts. I'll see you in 8 weeks" I cried for a good 24 hours, I mean, how could I not?!?!  Then, the fact I had to wait 8 weeks to find out whether those receipts needed to be used was going to be a small torture--I mean, anything could happen, although, thus far--when they say "look at that boy!" the penis never fell off before birth...I never got the "I painted my whoooole nursery blue and then my little princess was born"--nope, my little penis baring babies always came out with everything in tact--of course, they say 1 in 4 are of these days one of them may indeed turn into my princess--thankfully, I am a very active hag with many lovely "aunties" waiting in the wings with body glitter and the "so you like boys!" handbook if that day every comes.

Now, the fact I have had two normal births and two premature births has qualified me for a weekly ass shot of progesterone to keep my little uterus from expelling my baby too early. Those started at 16 weeks and continue until I hit 36 weeks--thankfully, after four kids, and the ball soak/lemonade thing, my dignity is far from intact, so, dropping trow once a week for a shot from a nurse isn't a modesty issue, but, holy cow they are not pleasant! One of these days, I can tell my little angel "you were a pain in the ass from the very beginning....LITERALLY!" Throw in the sciatic and back issues, the 3x a week physical therapy sessions, the modified bed rest, and the fact my weight loss voyage is totally out the window now, pregnancy is not for the weak of heart or mind. If this is my last shot, I am doing everything I can to keep this baby safe, healthy, and viable--we worked too damn hard and went through a lot of heartache to make this baby, damnit, it's going all the way!!! Also, I thank the Texas legislature for cutting the education budget, as a result, I get to stay home, my husband got a great job with Apple, and I can watch an hour of Maury daily. 

Now, I have my appt with the specialist next Tuesday, where I am supposed to get final confirmation on her 13 week prediction...but, being the patient flower that I am, there was no way in hell I was waiting that long. Instead, I paid $30 to have a private ultrasound done at 17 weeks--I didn't even sleep the night before, my blubbering, emotional, ass stayed up crying over what baby may or may not be--my poor husband. I explained to the ultrasound tech that the doc had given me a prediction at 13 weeks, that 80% was not good enough, and damnit, I needed to go shopping, baby Gap was having an amazing sale--that after 4 boys and the nonsense we went through just to get pregnant (and swing the odds in the female direction), I was driving myself insane--that of course I want a healthy baby, but, if it does indeed have a penis, I am afraid my 7 year old may potentially sell the baby on Ebay, as Zach had expressed so eloquently "I'm tired of having brothers, we will need to sell it if it's another boy--maybe I can pawn him for a new bike."

Seeing our little one on the big screen is always amazing...whether it's your 1st, or your 20th (I will never get to Duggar numbers, promise). Although, when that ultrasound tech says, "Well, your doctor was right at 13 weeks, that is 99% a little girl" the only thing you can do is cry.

Until next time,

Sunday, February 6, 2011

I'm not taking no calls not because I'll be dancing, rather, I'll be laying on a heating pad...

I never thought it would come to this. I always thought I was above the influence, I stood strong by my principles, why pay for something I can do for free...why would I want to subject myself to something that went against everything I believe in. Last Tuesday I shunned my principles, I was distracted by the shiny machines, the sweet talking manager, the pool, the classrooms, and the personal trainer who promised to help me reach all my goals. I never meant to do it, but, next thing I know, I'm handing my credit card over and signing on the dotted line--I did it, I joined a gym. Not just any gym, oh no, I wont go half ass, it is the epiphany of all gyms, the type gym you envision muscle heads, overly tanned spandex wearing women, protein shakes lined in conveniently placed refrigerators...I signed my life and fate over to Gold's Gym.

My decision was not easy, last anyone had heard from me was my 2 mile walk and 5 hour Dance Central-a-thon. What no one knew was the week that followed, filled with pain relievers, muscle relaxers, and a heating pad. I didn't realize it at the time, but, my kick ass 5 star awesomeness also left me with a completely pulled out back. I was filled with shame, I hurt my back playing a video game, how in the hell do you explain that with any dignity? I wasn't rescuing orphans from a burning building, I wasn't helping a friend move into a new place, I hadn't been training for the Olympics, no, instead, I was “Evacuating the Dance Floor” and put too much lean and power stepping into my dance moves. Going to work was painful, moving, was painful, in fact, laying on a heating pad, was painful. I realized I was in way over my head on this weight loss thing...I wasn't going to be successful on my own (without seriously hurting myself), I needed someone who was going to help me do things the right way, so, I contacted the gym.....after my doctor.

The weight loss challenge through my district started on Tuesday as well-I had to submit my height, weight, and blood pressure. After getting the same stats from my team members, I realized I outweighed all of them by a large margin, instead of slitting my wrists, I cried a little, then convinced myself that I have the winning advantage. With this challenge promising $500 to the top winner, I'm not playing around anymore, it's time to get it done. Hence, what helped seal my fate with Gold's Gym.

I met with my trainer the minute I walked in. Her introduction was short and sweet, gave me a tour of the gym and showed me various exercises that she would like to focus on to help me shed the weight, tone up, and lead a healthier life. In 30 minutes, she had become someone I knew I was going to hate to love. Carolyn took my weight, BMI, fat content, measurements and what I thought was everything she needed. I held back tears when she told me my fat content was 49%, meaning, my body is made up of almost half fat, I'm like a cheap rack of lamb, and a lot less tasty, even with mint jelly. When I told her I would like to lose 75-100 pounds, she started setting my “goals”, which I am to accomplish in 3 month intervals. To help track my weight loss, give me a more visual idea, she said she needed to take before and after pictures. We have all seen those pictures, the pasty brunette chubby girl who took some diet pills and magically became a blond, tan, six pack baring, white teeth flashing, and string bikini wearing model. We can all argue that those pictures have been photoshopped to hell, but, what they don't portray is how it actually feels to take those before pictures. I wanted to cry, in fact, I did, but, was able to hold it together as she asked me to face forward, turn to the side, then face the wall-it was like taking mugshots, my crime...super-sizing. Pictures don't lie, they are cruel, unforgiving, and heartbreaking. They also made me question my work out attire, maybe a lime green tank isn't the best choice for someone who would rather blend in, not stand out as the fatty on the elliptical. Those pictures are stored on my phone, and when I have a weak moment, I can quickly go through my album and remember the 'before' and how I want my 'after' to be as shocking as Hydroxycut ads, but, without the photoshop.

I have been to the gym every day since....I should mention on Wednesday when I woke up, I thought my legs were going to buckle under my weight. I wondered how in the HELL I could be hurting so bad when she only made me do 10 squats and 10 lunges...then I remembered this was coming from someone who pulled out their back playing a video game. I'm out of shape, any physical activity that requires me to do something other than push a shopping cart, stroller, or pay a girl scout for her delicious cookies, was going to hurt. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the gym, but, I knew I had to...not only was I paying for it, but, what kind of a sissy am I if I don't go to the gym the day after I signed up for it. I ran into my trainer when I walked in, she was so thrilled to see me, I told her I was in pain, she informed me that “being sore is your body's way of saying thank you!” In that case, my body owes me flowers, a romantic dinner date, and season tickets to the symphony. She led me over the the treadmill, put the incline up to 10, set the speed to 3.0, and smiled as she said “how does that feel?” Honestly, it feels like I am being tortured, like my legs are about to give me their two week notice but actually leave earlier claiming unused vacation hours, like I should have said goodbye to my children and promised to haunt Michael if he ever dates again proceeding my unfortunate death by treadmill. Instead, I smile and say “that feels great!” I lied, I lied so badly I made Enron executives looks like Jesus loving, family oriented, good natured business men. I want to hate her, I want to tell her she sucks and that I can lose the weight on my own, that I don't need her to torture me, to tell me that everything I eat is crap (she actually told me that), I don't need her to push me, but, I do, I need her to do all of the above, so, I'm paying her a lot of money to do so.

Aside from the gym, I've adjusted my eating habits, I even bought the powdered protein shake mix—which tastes terrible, I just pretend it's really thick tequilla and take it back like a champ. I've been eating more vegetables and fruits, less carbs, more proteins, and a heck of a lot of water. I know that I'm not perfect and know there will be days I will cave and eat something that isn't on my approved diet list, but will do it in moderation. I have sworn off girl scout cookies and hunting for their little stands in front of Wal Mart, Randals, HEB, CVS, my driveway, etc. Michael bought me a new ipod and fancy little arm band ipod holder I can rock at the gym, I'm guessing my old ipod was cramping my style. I have the jams, I have the stretchy pants, I have the new shoes, I have the super cool head bands that keep my hair pulled back, and I have a gym membership with a personal trainer. I can still fail at this, it doesn't take much...80% of all people who set out to lose weight will fail, but, there is still that 20% who succeed, and damnit, I plan on being the minority.

Until Next Time,

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Evactuate the dance floor....seriously, I'm really good, get out of the way-

Seeing as how I have set myself on complete diet self destruction, I figure it is time to rectify some of the damage I have caused to my body. After complaining, crying, and wishing, with absolutely no results, I realized that I was going to have to get my big butt moving. Step 1 was signing up for the "Get Fit Challenge" at work--our district is offering each school the opportunity to compete with other teachers to lose weight and get healthy....I see it as a way to get half off the price of a fitness boot camp. I think that paying someone $200 to yell at me for 24 sessions spread out over 12 weeks is the best way to motivate, after probably making me cry.

Since we have not gotten our "teams" together at work yet, I'm still on my own. I felt the best way to deal with that was watch the MTV show "I used to be fat"....I don't cry during movies, Lifetime or otherwise--I was actually accused of being dead on the inside because "Marley and Me" didn't cause me to run for the Kleenex...dude, the dog dies (sorry if you haven't seen it, SURPRISE!), it's called the circle of life. **cue Elton John's rendition on the 'Lion King; Soundtrack** This show, is about teenage kids who graduate high school, after being fat all their lives, teased, embarrassed, and singled out, and have decided to lose the weight before heading to college, in hopes of a new, healthy, and thin beginning. I made it ten minutes before I balled over the chubby blond girl heading to cosmetology school--by the way, ALWAYS get your make-up done by a chubby girl...think about it, when you have a weight issue, you know your stuff and how to make yourself look better, detract from the negative, trust me, they will make you look a stinkin movie star, but, I digress....This girl was tired of battling her weight, but, what got me was the part where her father told her as long as she was fat, she would never get a man, since they only look at your figure. 

Excuse me...I take pride in the fact that regardless of my size, I have NEVER had any issues attracting men. Granted, not all have been the best of quality, but, the few I've managed to tie down for more than a few months, looks wise, have been grade 'A' meat. My ex husband, good looking jock type, met me when I was freshly out of high school, I was still unruined from children and supersizing--but, through our marriage, the pounds started coming on. Our marriage ended due to his douchebaggery, not my waistline. I dated a few men after my divorce and before I met Michael...for the most part, I did well--in fact, one in particular was really really pretty...he was as dumb as a bag of hammers, but, as long as he didn't speak, he was really nice to look at. I remember thinking Paul was physically out of my league (being that I was a 230lb whale) HOWEVER, I had him on smarts, I assume that's why he stuck around as long as he did. Oddly, I actually broke things off with him when I moved across the state. When I met Michael, I had only been living in Austin for 5 weight didn't seem to matter, we just clicked on every other level *cue cliche song "You Are the Only Exception"--never heard it? Google it...Michael is adorable, at least in my opinion--I run everything by my best friend, so, before completely committing, I asked for the seal of approval, where Michael was immediately labeled as "hot," figure the 'ol bff hasn't been wrong yet.

After 6 amazing months, I found out I was knocked up--sorry, you can put lipstick on a pig, but, it's still a pig...I'm not going to use the term "blessed with a child". Straight up, we got hammered, threw caution to the wind, and well--it will be a magical story to tell Sammy someday. The pregnancy turned out to be a weight loss gold mine! I developed hypermesis, which, basically causes you to hurl every single day, for 9 GLORIOUS months! I delivered Sammy weighing less than when I had found out about the little miracle. Throw in breastfeeding for a year, chasing 3 older children, and running on coffee and prayers, I managed to keep losing, actually almost got under 200 pounds, which would have been the first time in almost 6 years. The rest of that story, well, you'll have to go back a few posts to find out the whole story on how the weight came back on...short story: in August I dealt with going back to work, a surprise pregnancy, then not pregnant, then a tumor wrapped around my right ovary, surgery to remove said tumor and right ovary, (not cancer, YAY, but, had it's own thyroid, which is less than 1% of all ovarian tumors, I'll make it into a medical journal before I get close to writing a best seller) not being able to do jack for 14 weeks, so, I ate cookies, fries, candy, and watched Big Bang Theory season DVDs.

So, now that I have been given clearance to work out again...actually, doctor gave me clearance in December, but, I had lots of holiday food to consume before I really felt comfortable committing to working out, anyway, it's time to get off my couch and get to it. Of course, I wanted to finish my MTV show about the "ex" fat girl first--she ended up losing 49 pounds over 99 days, and has since gotten under 200...seriously, I cried. So, all day yesterday, I thought about how to start getting motivated. First, I took my 6 year old and 18 month old grocery shopping after making a list of healthy meal choices for the week. When we got home, I was so tired from that experience, I put the groceries away then went to my room to cry over being fat and it's control over how I feel physically, mentally, and emotionally (something I do often). I then came up with a plan: When Michael took the older two boys to the Boyscout meeting on Sunday, I was going to go walking--So, today, I strapped on the Nike's, bundled up the baby, got a jacket on the 6 year old, and threw in my slightly retarded golden retriever for good measure. We walked about 2 miles in total--my neighborhood is on an incline, so, that hill was burning--doesn't help when the golden retriever hasn't been leash trained very well, let's just say the first mile was rough. When we got home, I still had energy (yay, endorphins!), so, decided to let the 6 year old take out the scooter and I played catch with the dog...who decided to run over to the poor, young muslim girl delivering food to our next door neighbors--she screamed, because, as we all know, golden retriever puppies are known for their viscous nature. Regardless, she would have been an excellent actress for "Cujo", I felt really bad that my dog ran over to her and stared at her, while she screamed helplessly and froze in terror. At that point, figured that was a sign to go inside, Sammy needed a nap anyway.

Trying to wheel and deal with a 6 year old on a scooter is like trying to bargain for an area rug in Mexico--you can break them down eventually, but, it will take you some time, energy, and charisma. Zach decided a fair trade would be playing our new XBox "kinnect" (misspelled on purpose, I'm not ignorant). We bought one game in particular that I thought would be fun--Dance Central. Basically, it's a very talented Avatar who dances, and expects you to follow their steps to various club, hip hop, R&B, and pop music tunes. Let's just say, that is a work out in ALL sense of the word!! Coolest part is the calorie counter, you pop in your weight (sigh), and it follows how much you move, then lets you know what you've burned off. After 4 hours, I had beyond burned off my breakfast! Zach started off with me doing the dance battles, but, after realizing he has no rhythm and was messing up my 5 star status, I distracted him with his gameboy and took over alone. When Michael and the other 2 boys came home, I was dropping it like it's hot--in fact, I got so good at it, I think I may become a professional hip hop dancer--Mofo Andi is in the house, holla!!!

In total, I worked my butt off for close to 5 hours--the fact that I'm already sore scares the hell out of me, I think Michael may have to carry me to work tomorrow. The thought of standing, clapping, conducting, or holding up a flute currently makes me shudder in fear. I already popped four ibruprofen, took a hot bath, and limped around the kitchen while making dinner. I am determined to do the same thing tomorrow--at least walking the neighborhood if all else fails. I had so much fun working out to a video game, walking the block, and playing with the boys and dog, maybe I can get fit without ever setting foot into a gym.

Until Next Time,

Thursday, January 20, 2011

fat girls + skinny jeans= fat girls in skinny jeans....

Being a chubby girl who enjoys fashion magazines, watching E!, catching up on the latest craze, and window shopping isn't easy. Let's face it, fluffy fashion is not the most couture, the selection is limited, and I've learned that once you weight over 200lbs, you're supposed to suddenly have an affinity for floral prints, elastic waist bands, or overly revealing bustiers. When empire waist came back into fashion, I was THRILLED, no more tight t-shirts, midriff baring tops, or the all too popular spaghetti strap tank tops (that are meant to be worn UNDER a shirt). I believe I bought every shirt in this style in every color--gave me a reason to not suck in, to feel in style, and to spend money on clothes. I thought the fashion world was finally going my way--until I was asked 6 times in the same week when I was due. Damn you designers, you even managed to make empire waist only suitable for skinny girls, touche. 

I generally hide behind my clothing, I am quite aware of the muffin top and do everything in my power to keep it tucked in my jeans. I have always thought that as long as I can fit into Old Navy and the GAP, my weight isn't too out of control--I do in fact fit into Old Navy and GAP, well, at least the shirts. After 4 boys emerging from my uterus, my stomach and hip region is in no way designed for low rise, mid rise, or diva style pants--unfortunately, I had to come to that conclusion one tearful day in the dressing room. I could buy the jeans, suffer the cursed muffin top, and scare small children, or I could suck it up (no pun intended) and hit the fat chick store in search of pants made for a "woman's" body. First stop, Lane Bryant, the clothes are gorgeous, but, uber pricey. I bought a few slacks for work, but, wasn't about to drop $75 on a pair of jeans I don't plan on wearing forever. This store is made for older, professional women, doesn't really target younger women, so, I was a bit limited. I did learn that although a chubby girl, I can not wear chubby girl tops--I have been blessed with a smaller chest and scrawny arms, these shirts swallowed me whole.

I did a little research and found a store called "Torrid"--there is one at the mall close to me, so, I decided to check it promised young fluffy fashion, so, I couldn't lose, right? As a fat chick, I have to take a stand-- just because they make it in your size, does NOT mean you should ever, under any circumstances, wear it. A mini skirt should not be available in larger sizes--when there is more fabric going AROUND, than up and down, you don't need to wear it. Don't tell me you can, that it looks good on you, I just wear leggings, no, no!!! Tube tops, tube skirts, tube sweaters (anything with the word "tube" that doesn't have "sock" following it), jeggings, and leggings is also a big no, girls, we just can't pull it off respectfully! Low rise ANYTHING, this includes bottoms and tops--As a fluffy girl, I have a bit more in the boob area than I had when I was 120 pounds, but, I don't need to flaunt what the fat Gods have given me (hopefully temporarily). If you are over 200lbs, and the word "skinny" is in the description, other than it being an oxymoron, it is a HUGE NO!!!! Fluffy girls, skinny jeans aren't meant for us!! They are meant for waify teenagers who like heavy eyeliner, bad haircuts, and cutting to relieve the stress. There are some women who can pull this look off over the age of 16--they are the minority, not the majority, fluffy girls, stay away from them!!!

Torrid has racks and racks of inappropriate clothing for big girls, why this extreme? Why not sell normal clothing in a larger size, why does it have to be so revealing? I had a very hard time finding anything that I felt I could actually wear on a day that didn't fall on Halloween. Halter tops in an XXXXL, NOOOOOOOOO!!!! Chubby girls, unless you are going a a Renaissance Fair, there is NEVER a reason to wear a top that laces up, ever--Leave a bodice for the time period intended and quit saying "In those days, being fat mean you were fertile. Marilyn Monroe was a size 12." Yes, true, but, by today's standards, Marilyn Monroe's 12 equated to our now, size 4, and the fat and fertile, well, those women averaged 140-150 pounds-I've done my fat girl excuse research, it didn't make me feel better either. I'm not sure if the women that wear these styles are just far more comfortable in their skin than me, but, I just can't picture myself wearing 90% of the items sold at this store. I ended up with a pair of jeans and some Hello Kitty underwear--I'll admit, I was pretty excited over the cartoon underwear, can never find the cute stuff in my size, I'm supposed to reserve myself to granny panties in pastels. I honestly felt a part of this store was exploiting those of us with a weight problem, attempting to give the big girls more fashion options, but, it's also setting many of us to be the joke of the club--the fat girl wearing the skinny jeans amongst the actual skinny girls wearing the skinny jeans, in the end, making us feel more out of place for trying to fit in.

The complete opposite end of this argument, is the fashion departments who have just put the most putrid items on sale for big girls--hence why I mentioned floral. I have never, not once, thin, fat, pregnant, or 12 years old, thought floral print was amazing--I have never once put on a dress and thought "you know what this needs? Roses and a HUGE bow!" Liz Claiborne, STOP, it wasn't in style during the 80s, and it isn't going to make a comeback now...unless I am 5, holding a basket full of rose pedals, and have a bride directly behind me, I don't want to wear a dress, shirt, moo moo, or any other item with flowers and bows. Just because I'm fat, does not mean, I have suddenly decided to look like a walking floral arrangement. Bows, are just, a no...I don't care who you are--unless you're a cheerleader or your name is Minnie Mouse, Daisy Duck, or Hello Kitty, don't sport a bow on any part of your body--except the hair, which is a delicate issue, and I like to think I can pull a small one off every now and again, although, would like feedback from my friends who think I can' bastards never came forward with the perm of 2000--ya'll let my drivers license let me know that was a mistake, thanks again. 

It seems there is an untapped market for fatty that lets us feel like we can fit in despite our bulging waistlines. I have never been one to think I can pull something off that I honestly can't...I won't try to pour myself into a smaller jean size because I don't want to admit that I've fattened up, I make sure I'm tucked, sucked, and folded into my clothing--nothing sticking out that doesn't need to be seen. I don't want to wear stretchy pants anywhere other than my home, I'm not planning on being a flower girl in anyone's wedding, so, bows and floral is not an option, and damnit, I would like Target to start selling the cute underwear above a size L--that Torrid underwear set me back $20! I'm tired of walking into stores that either try to hide that we're fat by making us dowdy and gardenesque, or make us feel "confident" by selling clothing meant to be worn in public, but is really just lingerie that would make a playboy bunny blush. Women, if you are a bit on the large side, be aware of what genuinely looks good and decipher that from the "I'll wear what I want" attitude---I can only believe so many people got dressed in the dark, don't own mirrors, or left their house in a hurry due to a fire and grabbed their much thinner sister's clothing.

Until next time,

Monday, January 10, 2011

Imagine this mouthwatering cheeseburger...not you fatty--

I have to admit, food commercials are killing's hard to stay motivated and enjoy tuna when you are watching happy people lick grease from their chompers while enjoying a McRib on tv, when I myself, would never actually want a McRib. In fact, I have never had any interest in trying a McRib, I think they look terrible, but, when you are convincing yourself that oatmeal is the BEST thing in the world, they look like the most delectable entree you have never tried and now can't stop thinking about. 

As my husband heads out the door to get the kids Happy Meals, I need to remain at peace that my homemade salad is perfect, just what I wanted. It has been a long day, I didn't feel like actually cooking, especially since I didn't walk through the door until 6pm, so, while the little ones get to eat bad, mommy must stick to "the plan." I have also had to stop watching tv and begin utilizing my box sets of my favorite television programs. I can't handle another commercial for food. I'm not sure if there has always been this many food commercials, or, if I just haven't noticed them in the past, probably because I was too busy eating what they were advertising. During my daily Maury Povich viewing, the only commercials I have noticed have been for Social Security or accident Lawyers, the Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute (anyone else interested in this? I'm all but convinced I should become a culinary expert...they have financial aide), and the angry black man with the sideways cap that tells me all I do is sit on my couch and talk on the phone all day, so, I should go to Everest College (your classroom IS your future job site!) and make something of myself. I assume their target audience is people on disability getting screwed out of their checks, who need to become electricians and professional chefs...I've become use to this steady stream of commercials and was upset when all of a sudden I heard the KFC jingle--"It's so, S-O G-double O-D, GOOOOOOD!" I felt that CW was now trying to trick me into now eating my weight in fried chicken, along with calling Everest Tech College, Wayne Wright, and nurturing my dreams of becoming a famous chef.

It's completely unavoidable...there are billboards, my mailbox is flooded with coupons for fast food, the commercials, my coworkers and their love for tacos, my children now enjoying greasy burgers and fries at the dinner table. I have to keep on the straight and narrow weight loss path, but, all I can think about is the double fried chicken that substitutes as the bread to hold the bacon and cheese in place, better known as the KFC heartattack combo. Before this diet, I never ate anything like that, in fact, the commercials repulsed me...I might be fat, but, that's even too far for me. It's now clear who the target audience is for these commercials: Chubby, music teachers, with four children, who have a love for bad daytime television, writing, and are trying to lose weight by NOT eating crap food that is advertised on television. Yes, networks, I have figured you out, and I will not let you take me down!!! I will lock myself in the computer room and discuss how much it is killing me to smell the french fries two rooms away, but, I will not indulge. I will yell at 6 year old who comes into room with ketchup on his fingers and fries on his breath, I will not cave. I will complain, I will drool a little, but, I will stay strong. I will continue to picture my chubby butt in the closet last week, weeping over the mass quantities of clothes on the floor, and the orb that constitutes as my stomach.

Aside from bad daytime tv, I also have a penance for gossip and parenting magazines...Two of my favorites: People and US Weekly, which are basically the same thing, but People has more touchy feely, true stories of real human diligence. Two weeks ago, I picked up the "Weight Loss" issue--I was thinking that there would be tips, diet plans, and honest accounts of how these people had lost the weight. Imagine my surprise when the former fluffies featured had lost the weight  with unrealistic life situations. I don't buy the "I lost 200 pounds by dancing!"...liar. So, I picked up a Parents Magazine and thought I could find some answers from other "real" moms. Moms who claim they lost the weight because they are just "sooo busy with the kids all day" filled this issue--if that was a true way of losing weight, I would be about 92 pounds. Moms that are able to drop the baby weight before they step out of the hospital sicken me...worse, are the ones who continue to lose weight and claim that breastfeeding and pushing a stroller gave them 6 pack abs--I nursed my youngest for over a year, carried him in a sling while climbing stairs all day doing housework, and pushed a stroller, shopping cart, or five year old who fell asleep in the car--by those standards, I should weigh less than my 8 year old.

I'm wondering what I'm going to do with my free "mindless" time now...if I can't watch trash television due to the food ads and smut magazines have begun to fail me, I don't know where else to turn. Don't get me wrong, I read a lot, but, real books don't count as my "mindless time"...those are for educational purposes, they help me expand my vocabulary and give me something to talk about other than my children or the Kardashians. When I can no longer enjoy a talk show dedicated to finding a hard working, toothless mother's 8th attempted baby daddy (as in, she's had 7 others tested, not actually has 8 babies), or a magazine focused on the love life of Reese Witherspoon, I don't know where else to turn. I guess I could watch CNN or read a Newspaper, but, that always had bad news--I live in Texas, so, the weather never really changes--I'm at a crossroads right now. I guess eventually I will grow immune to the food ads, that the delicious double quarter pounder will not tempt me, that I will see my carrot sticks as fuel for a healthy and better body. Until then, I guess I'll have to give up two more pleasures in my life to keep my stresses low and cookies out of my trachea.

Till next time,

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Let me tell you how to lose weight....

So, on this quest to a smaller waste line, I have had many people give me their unsolicited  advice. Sometimes I welcome it with open arms, other times I would like to throw my supersized fries and diet soda at them--I've learned that there are some people, no matter how sincere they may be, who should  NEVER give advice on how to lose weight, keep weight off, or the best way to become healthy. Some are obvious, while others, not so much-

Ballet Dancers: When your diet consists of coffee, cigarettes, bottled water and the occasional carrot stick, and your workout regimen is more extensive than a professional athlete, you have no clue what a weight problem is. When going from a size 0 to a size 0.5 makes you a "total fat ass," I seriously don't want to hear how it's super hard to just take those 7 oz off. When I was attending college, the ballet dancers were in the same building as the music majors...don't get me wrong, I loved some of the dancers, especially the very flamboyant males, some of my favorite people. Yet, it was a known rule to avoid the second floor bathroom after lunch--this was the time many of the dancers would "get rid of" that coffee and carrot stick that was messing with their slim physique. Desperate times sometimes called for desperate measures and I would have no choice but to use this particular facility...I would waddle my chubby butt in there in time to see fresh, flush faced prima ballerinas freshening up. I always felt a little guilty knowing that the bagel sandwich I had just inhaled was worth more calories than they allowed themselves each month. 

Skinny People: In general, when the only weight problem you have ever had was the freshman 15 or the time you were pregnant, you have no clue what it is to be overweight. When one is afraid to check one's BMI for fear that they are mostly made up of cake and french fries, they can not relate to the person who needs to drop 10 pounds to get back into their high school jeans. I have these friends, who bounce right back after a baby, a wedding, a holiday, a Golden Corral. Whereas, I struggle to take off the 4 pounds I put on over the weekend. I have friends who tell me they know how I feel because they are so fat now...they can totally relate because they have put on 20 pounds since high school. Sorry, until you have put on enough weight to constitute a separate, full size 10 year old, you have no idea what I'm going through. I don't have a tummy pooch, I have a mass of blubber that could house a small Philippine family.

My Grandmother: It was all fun and games when I was in college and put on a few pounds. She promised if I took off the weight, she would buy me a brand new outfit. Seemed like enough motivation for a young, poor, college student--except, that steakburger trumps outfit. After I had my first son, I was able to bounce back, not "outfit worthy," in my grandmother's eyes, but, enough for people to say "wow, you took the baby weight off pretty quickly"...Once baby boy two, three, and four hit, I was no longer able to just consume cheerios and cry all day as I had with my first son. The weight was a bit more complicated to take off, and in all honesty, I never lost it after I had Zach (kid #3). For the last 14 years I was told how fat I was and how much I needed to take it off...then of course, there were her pointers on weight loss..."Just eat half the portions, eat only salad, don't put dressing, order only soup, skip desert, in fact, just skip food all together...have you seen what the ballerinas do to lose weight? They are just beautiful." Never mind the fact that as she was giving me her weight loss advice, she was also shoving Mexican food down my throat--I swear, she wanted me to lose weight, would tell me how fat I was every time she saw me, but, would feed me non stop when I would visit. Needless to say, I still haven't gotten that coveted outfit. 

Anyone from the Biggest Loser: I've watched the show, yes, they are "inspirational." Let's face it, if I was shipped off to a ranch for 6 months, given a personal trainer, full access to a loaded gym, a fridge stocked with health foods, no McDonald's, husband, children, or work stresses--you better believe my fat ass would make a complete turn around! Is it amazing how these 400lb people push themselves to the extreme to lose the weight, have 6 pack abs at the show finale, and look and feel amazing...I guess, but, let's face it, if they hadn't been selected on the show, they would be just like me...inhaling a box of Oreos while thinking "man, I need to get on that ranch. Tomorrow, life is going to change, you go Sunshine, I want to be just like you!" The last few seasons they have had contestants return to the show who put ALL the weight back on...well, ya, once Jillian Michaels and the gay guy, whose name is not as important, is no longer yelling at you, life goes back to normal. Life aint a big weightloss ranch--

Fat People: I wish I was kidding with this one. As a fluff fighter, I never give advice on how to lose weight to other fluffies--I've told people how I am trying to lose it, the steps I'm taking, but, I never tell them HOW they need to do it. I have had people who out weight me by a good 100 pounds tell me how I should lose the weight, give me diet advice...give me their "tips." Many of these people also believe that the Subway guy seriously lost 300 pounds by eating hoagies, I'm calling BS on 'ol Jared. Besides, was I the only one who thought he was less creepy looking when he was fat? Seriously, if you weigh more than me, I'm gonna go ahead and say I'm doing something better than you...

Last, but not least...MEN: Dudes, you have no idea what it's like to be a hormonal, menstruating, baby carrying, water retaining, salty, sweet, salty, sweet craving, cry over cotton commercials, boob holstering, girdle wearing, poor body imaged, female. When fat men can still get hot chicks according to every sitcom, movie, or commercial, where the fat chicks are the funny friends, home alone on a Friday night, eating chocolate bon bons, reading a new cosmo and weeping. When the average man thinks that a woman's ideal weight should be 110-115, you have a screw lose and have lost any privilege of telling me what is best. When men try to give me advice, not realizing, their bodies don't quite work like ours, I try to take it with a grain of salt. We were meant to carry and birth children, we are constructed to build up fat in our stomachs to house a fetus and protect it for 9 months...once said infant is born, we also have 9 months worth of fat building to now lose--and when you have an addiction to peanut m&ms and snow cones through those 9 months, that battle isn't going to be easy. My current and wonderful husband has always encouraged, supported, and loved me regardless of how much I gain or lose, I'm fortunate. Of course, I was once married to a creatine guzzling, powershake mixing, random vitamin counting, meat head who would tell me that if I just did what he did, the weight would come off--uhm, sure, I'll try it, but only if I can have the same backne, butt, and shoulder hair he was sporting!

The fact is, we don't have the same body chemistry as men. I know when my husband wants to lose ten pounds, he eats turkey sandwiches for lunch and gives up soda for a week--next thing he knows, he has lost too much weight...makes me want to punch him right in the throat. Thankfully, he has also learned to not tell me how to lose the pounds, or suggest things that work for him. He knows better than to try to advise the woman who went through 9 months of pregnancy HELL for our adorable little boy. I just wish more men had this same knowledge, understood that we just can't wave our magic wand, jump on an elliptical, and have a perfect beach body. I know Heidi Klum did it after her 1,000th child, but, she is a German engineered freak of nature. I'm sorry, but, I refuse to lock myself into a room with Elton John for 8 months, eat nothing but sushi, and workout 8 hours a day with a personal trainer like Elizabeth Hurley (that's how she did, I couldn't make this stuff up). Men, if you really think fat, dorky, guys end up with thin, hot, chicks--you are crazy. Just like I know Bridget Jones could hardly be classified as "fat" and Hugh Grant isn't going to be knocking down my door and getting into a fight with Colin Firth for my affection, although, a girl can always dream. 

So, next time you are about to hand out the weight loss advice, put yourself in the other person's shoes. Unless you went through the same struggles, don't try to pretend that the 6 months you tried to lose 10 pounds is similar. Many of you have written to me about your own struggles, and I'm glad that I have inspired you to go on a weight loss mission of your own--there are so many of us fighting the battle of the fluff and it's nice to know we're not alone in this. We should encourage each other, tell each other things that worked for us, and share recipes that are healthy and don't taste like ground ass. I know I'm not alone in this, I also know that the vast majority of us out there are trying to win the fluffy fight, and rock those jeans we once wore in high school....ok, college.....ok, from five summers ago.

Until next time,