A little while ago I posted a list of fitness goals I had for myself. I thought putting it on the internet would be a good way to keep myself on track and create some accountability. But since my fitness manifesto, no one has asked me even once why I am surrounded by this pile of Diet Coke cans and York Peppermint Pattie wrappers. YOU GUYS ARE NOT DOING YOUR PART.

I have done a pretty good job attending Stroller Strides, which, by itself, is making a difference. I’m now 4 lbs under the “pre-pregnancy weight” on my medical chart and only 10 lbs away from my actual pre-pregnancy weight. I’ve been told that as long as I’m nursing, losing those last 10 lbs might be the hardest weight anyone has ever tried to lose, but I’m determined to at make every effort. Although I doubt the 20 lbs more I’d like to lose after that is going to be a walk in the park. More like the world’s longest marathon barefoot in the snow up hill both ways. Like the olden days.

My real motivation for losing another 30 lbs is my friend Erin’s wedding in September. I cannot put off ordering the gorgeous J. Crew bridesmaids dress she picked out any longer, but ordering a dress sight unseen means all I have to base my size on is MEASUREMENTS. In INCHES. Which I have to take WITH A TAPE MEASURE. And guys, the biggest size the dress comes in is a 16. Normally, I wouldn’t be anywhere near a 16 but since it’s a “bridesmaids dress” they run small. Because how dare you even think about being involved in a wedding unless you’ve successfully dieted your way down to a respectable size, like a double zero. (Which is an actual size this dress can be ordered in. DOUBLE ZERO. LESS THAN ZERO.) My plan is to call the girl at the bridal shop and ask her to realistically tell me if a) a 16 will fit over my boobs and b) how much extra room there is in the mid section in case possibly maybe my stomach has, er, expanded by September. No, I have nothing to tell you.

Since the giving up soda and candy plan has been a total bust, I’m going to add the world’s most terrifying exercise video to my workout plan. That’s right. I am now the proud owner of Jillian Michaels – 30 Day Shred. I’ve bullied E into doing it with me so for the next month don’t expect to have any conversations with either of us that don’t include “OMG MY AAAAAAARMS. They HUUUUURT. And my LEEEEEGS are SOOOOOORE. Let me tell you more about this workout thing I’m doing! Wait, why are you running away? Come back! It’s REALLY INTERESTING.”

***Don’t forget I’m still looking for donations to help me reach my March of Dimes fund-raising goal. Any amount you can give helps, be it $1 or $20. Our team is doing the best we can but it’s hard to keep badgering people you know for money – so I’ll badger my blog readers instead! Just kidding. All you have to do is click on that purple widget right over there ——–>and you’ll help with RESEARCH and SCIENCE and stuff. Thanks so much!***

Dear Bathroom Scale,

I’m sorry I will probably break you later this morning when we have our first weigh-in for the fitness challenge at Stroller Strides. In my defense, the morning after the Superbowl is probably the worst Monday of the year to expect me to have lost weight.

Exhibit A:

The Pioneer Woman's Jalapeno Poppers

Exhibit B:

Quesadillas by Amanda

Exhibit C:

The Pioneer Woman's Drip Beef (not pictured, buttered sandwich rolls and cheese)

Exhibit D:

Fruit Pizza by Amanda - don't be fooled by the "fruit" part, it's shortbread and frosting and chocolate

Not pictured: Taco dip, brownies, three kinds of chips, cheese and crackers, veggies with ranch dip, shrimp cocktail, and my favorite baked potato rounds covered in cheese and bacon.

And let’s not forget my best excuse of all:

BABY WEIGHT

So there, Scale. Those are my excuses. I’ll try to do better next week I promise. Of course I mean AFTER E’s birthday dinner and a special Valentine’s treat.

xoxo

Suzanne

UPDATE: RECIPE LINKS

Jalapeno Poppers – Pioneer Woman

Drip Beef Sandwiches – Pioneer Woman

Amanda’s Website – Funny Days with Mommy & Maddie

UPDATE: I weighed exactly the same as last week. So no harm, no foul, leftover drip beef for lunch!

So you know what’s really really boring? Listening to people talk about their diets and workout plans and weight loss goals and OMG this new dance-yoga-spinning-butter-churning class they just signed up for at the gym. So I apologize in advance for this post.

I have never ever been good at dieting. That’s not to say I’ve never been SUCCESSFUL at dieting, I’m just not very good at it. My strategy has always been more exercise, not less dessert, which worked well for me when I was 20, after this I even tried some appetite suppressants from West Word which help me a lot with this. It’s not hard to find time for yet another class at the gym when your biggest problem in life is finding an after-hours bar because a 2 am last call is, like, SOOOOOO lame.

Then, BAM, I got married and spent all my time sitting on a couch instead of at those 7 am Saturday Pilate’s classes. And then, BAM, we moved away from the land of bathing suits and tank tops to Connecticut, where big, baggy sweatshirts are acceptable attire 7 months of the year. And then, BAM, I had a baby and everything that used to point up pointed down and things that used to go in go out and everywhere from my toes to my earlobes streeeetched and now I am without hope.

I could say I’ve been trying to get back in shape for a while now, but that would be mostly false. Sure I joined Stroller Strides and have shown up for class three days a week almost every week since October but trying is too strong of a word for my participation. I’ve doing more strolling than striding. But with Baby Evan’s first birthday on the horizon and my pre-pregnancy jeans still totally unbuttonable it is time to buckle down and DO THIS. And since writing about it on the internet is the best way to make sure as many people as possible hold me accountable, here’s THE PLAN:

1. Attend Stroller Strides at least 5 days a week (and not half-ass my way through the hour).

2. Drink a lot more water and a lot less soda – even the diet kind.

3. Stop buying candy since I am totally incapable of eating a reasonable amount as a treat instead of an entire bag as dinner.

4. Eat breakfast every day.

5. Weigh myself on Saturdays to keep my goals on track.

I know if I tried I could make THE PLAN much more ambitious. If it comes down to it I can put myself on the totally no fun no days off no will to live diet that would get results but also make me a cranky miserable bitch for a few weeks, although it would mean I can go back to just maintaining my weight sooner. It also might mean my husband and child never speak to me again. It’s a hard decision.

Stay tuned for fascinating and enthralling updates and possibly a photo that will scare you out of having children forever. As soon as I have an after (or a middle, or a one seventh of the way through, or a ANY IMPROVEMENT AT ALL) photo to share, I fully intend to post them both. And if you don’t delete me from your bookmarks after that threat, you have no one to blame but yourself. Also, I love you.

So after a week of night weaning and three full nights of sleep I’m ready to start whining about the opposite of sleep deprivation – no more night time cuddles. (This is where you yell at your monitor for me to just make up my mind already. Go ahead. I’ll still be here complaining when you’re done.) Baby Evan is not a very snuggly baby during the day and he’s MUCH too busy and important to sit quietly in anyone’s lap while they enjoy the babiness of him – wispy hair and chubby knees and the way he squirms just before he gives in to sleep, like he has to get that last bit of energy out so he can rest. Sometimes those night feedings were the only baby love I got all day, so I’m sad he no longer needs me at 2 am. As if I’ve already forgotten the eighty bajillion times I said OMG WHY DOES THIS BABY NEED ME AT 2 AM?? CUT THE CORD CHILD. I think this kind of total insanity is only possible in motherhood.

OK, truthfully it’s not just about the cuddles. It’s also about the totally not funny joke Mother Nature is playing on me and my lady parts. EVEN THOUGH I’m still exclusively breastfeeding, EVEN THOUGH the baby eats the equivalent of one tablespoon of actual solids in a day while throwing 2 cups worth on the floor (yesterday it was sweet potato fries and penne), EVEN THOUGH I’ve gotten exactly three nights of sleep since April 5, 2009, I am now the proud owner of one menstrual cycle.  Thank God I found that box of Tampax in the back of my bathroom closet and also that Tampax doesn’t expire the way that bottle of Robitussin I found next to it did. In 2007. This wouldn’t have happened if I was willing to go another 9 months without any sleep. Geez, what was I thinking?

I’m also a teeny bit worried about my milk supply. It would be crushing to have to supplement at this point, especially since I still don’t have a way to get fluids INTO the baby as he thinks the main purpose of sippy cups is banging them against the floor. I’m back to that newborn oh-God-I-can’t-tell-how-much-he’s-eating-is-fussing-because-he’s-starving???? uncertainty, which is ridiculous at 9 months. I’m probably overreacting. This is probably what normal lactation is like. I’ve gone from being able to put out a medium sized grease fire using only my boobs to having just the amount of milk my baby needs. It’s nice to be able to take off my bra without immediately jumping into a shower or risk causing a flood and drowning the cat. I’m going to love wearing bras with fewer than fourteen hooks in the back and maybe even in a color besides white, flesh or black. But I’ve also heard people say getting their period back was the end of successful breastfeeding. I’d cry for days if I had to stop nursing…so should I start drinking Mother’s Milk tea or what?

P.S. Have I just totally forgotten what normal feels like or is anyone else insanely thirsty during that time of the month? I drank at least a gallon of water (plus 2 sodas, a hot chocolate and a glass of milk) yesterday and I’m as dehydrated as if I’d been licking a block of salt instead. Gaaaaaaaaaaaah.

P.P.S. Crap, I guess this also means I actually have to start doing something to prevent another baby, especially a SOOPRISE BEBEH. Not that I would be crushed if it happened but I am going to be in that wedding in September and I don’t think the adorable, strapless, tea-length dresses the bride has in mind would fit over a 34 week belly. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Here’s today’s riddle:

What’s the difference between these pants I bought at Target last week with the stretchy waistband and my regular old maternity jeans?

Nothing! They’re the same! The new pants are canvas and only cost $12 but a stretchy waistband is a stretchy waistband is a stretchy waistband. The real riddle is how come I feel so much better in my new Target pants than I do in any of my old maternity jeans? I think it’s just because I bought these pants in the regular women’s department and they don’t say “maternity” on the label. Which is totally insane. It’s not like anyone else can see the labels. And yet because I am wearing non-maternity pants today I feel about 20 lbs lighter than usual.

Actually, I’m only 3 lbs away from my “pre-pregnancy” weight. You  may think those quotation marks are unnecessary, since pre-pregnancy is a medical term for “the time before a fertilized egg implanted in your uterine wall and then you ate the entire contents of the frozen food department at Costco” but it’s not as simple as that. Pre-pregnancy my hips still fit through most standard sized door frames. Pre-pregnancy I didn’t rub holes in my jeans with the power of my thighs. Pre-pregnancy my boobs were still closer to the arctic circle than the equator, but now they’re determined to have a tropical vacation even if I’m not going. The weird changes my body went through – and is still going through – are a lot bigger than just weight gain and loss. I’m starting to doubt my old jeans are ever going to fit again, even if I lose those last three pounds times ten. My days in the misses department are totally, completely, officially over. I am now a women’s section shopper.