Friday, August 29, 2014


I am a foodie.  A major one.  I believe the psychological term is "emotional eater" but let's don't get all technical about it.  The point is that I LOVE food.  I do not love exercising.  The result is that
I'm...not precisely (or even closely)  my pre baby weight even though my "baby" is four.  It really sucks.

Yes, yes, I know I'm supposed to be proud of my post baby body and what it has accomplished.  I'm supposed to proudly wear a bikini with no shame and embrace the much curvier me.  I'm not supposed to use that dirty "fat" word or make deprecating jokes about my jiggly bits.  COME ON!  Have you met me?  Self deprecation is my default.  Besides, what is funnier than fat?  It rolls and shimmies and pops out in weird places.

Funny as I find it, I do not enjoy my fat.  I do not enjoy the pressure of boob against stomach when I slump over.  I do not enjoy the way my belly muffins out of the top of any and all pants.  I do not enjoy the near combustion that is caused by my thighs rubbing together.

So, you're probably asking me "Well, what are you going to do about it?".  That's the problem.  I don't want to do anything about it.  I want to be thin like a twelve year old boy and still eat an entire sheet cake.  Every day.  Why does the system have to be calories in/calories out?  I just don't think that's fair.  Which makes me frustrated.  Frustration makes me feel overwhelmed.  Feeling overwhelmed makes me feel...HUNGRY.

I will probably never stop planning to eat better and exercise more, but I will definitely never stop indulging my sweet teeth.  That's right.  Teeth.  As in the plural of tooth because I don't have a sweet tooth.  I have a set.  My weight will most likely always fluctuate between periods of motivation and then the lack thereof.

As of today, my fat-pants are too tight, but I think I'll go eat a cheeseburger.  You should do the same.

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