Toddler survival instincts are incredible. Did you know that when a 21-month-old wakes up at 11:30PM they will coat every word and every expression in tooth-decaying sweetness? True fact. I fancy myself a bit of an expert on the subject. I have a masters in Nocturnal Toddler Behavioral Sciences.
It's 12:20AM on Sunday morning. There are two beings currently awake in our household. One has little horns underneath his brown locks and the other one is finding that midnight is the prime time to blog when you can't go to sleep for risk of being pommeled by miscellaneous items from the night stand.
Yes, he's really like that. No, I don't think chloroform is the answer in this case, although the thought has crossed my mind. Among other reasons, it's just difficult finding a bottle of the stuff this late at night, you know?
So now that I have a reason to write about my dull life for the benefit of the entire interweb, I shall share with you the details of the last five days.
I decided that it was time for me to lose weight. Why? Because I weighed myself and was two pounds heavier than the last time I weighed myself, that's why.
What? Were you waiting for some startling revelation or something?
I'd love to say that an angel came down and sprinkled me with fairy dust... or, I guess that would be angel dust... and I had a spiritual awakening of some sort which propelled me to get fit. That would make for a great book, or at the very least a free trip to Oprah in a couple of years with a pair of my fat jeans tucked into the carry-on bag.
However, it was far more vain than that, I'm afraid. I'm just tired of being fat and stuff. Rotund. Rubenesque. Obese. Lard... ish. It's not that I hate myself, I just want to stop looking pregnant in anything with an empire waist. I want to wear a dress without shoving my spare tire into a pair of tummy tuckers. Walking on heels without fear of breaking my ankles would also be nice, please.
Want to know what I weigh? I'll tell you. I want to be all accountable and junk anyway. First, I'll tell you how tall I am. I'm 5'6" and 3/4. In school we were taught to round numbers to the nearest whole, so I'm 5'7". Being that extra inch gives me some extra pounds to play with before I get into "morbid obesity" land.
Ever been called morbidly obese? I have. And theoretically I'm a mere half point away on the BMI scale I found online. Damn. So I did what anyone would do and found another BMI scale to punch my vitals into. Still nearly morbid and still obese.
Thankfully there are many BMI calculators online.
Unfortunately I'm almost a fat goth on all of them. All I need is some black lipstick and a veil to complete the package.
On Tuesday morning I woke up and decided to weigh myself. I emptied my bladder first, of course, because that's at least a half pound. Then I stripped down to nothing, put the scale on a flat surface and made sure I had no jewelry on and that my hair was dry. Naked, I stood and awaited my fate.
252 pounds. You may gasp. I did. Then I sighed. Then I got off the scale, put some clothes on and vowed to only drink water all day.
When I came to my senses and had some toast, I thought about what I was going to do. That's just not an acceptable size for me. No, I'm not judging you. If you want to be 252 pounds you go right ahead. It's not a horrible place to be. My blood pressure and blood sugars are still fine. I do not need a crane to leave my home. I can even run around a bit and play with the kids.
It's not horrible. It's just not great, either.
I figure I'll start a weight loss blog (because, you know, I blog here so frequently these days that I obviously have time for yet another place to put my thoughts down) so I can document exactly what I'm doing to shed the pounds. So until then, I'll give you the skinny.
Hah! I love me!
I'm eating more fruit and vegetables. I'm eating far less junk food, saturated fat and simple carbs. I've been reading everything I can get my hands on about the glycemic index and how our bodies metabolize food.
Damn, I'm smart.
Anyway, this week has been awesome. No, not because I was in it. Because less of me was in it. Yesterday I weighed myself again - nekkid, empty bladder and brushed teeth this time because I'm sure I have obese plaque on my teeth - and was a whopping 2 1/2 pounds lighter. That's after only three days.
I told you I'm awesome!
And that was my week. I even asked Intrepid to take a really, really bad picture of me. It's a profile and it's in my fat clothes. Oh, you know what I mean by that: the clothes you only wear when you've slacked off on laundry? The ones that make you look like Shamu with hair? Yeah. Those. Want me to post it? I so will. Pixie was mortified i would do that to myself, but I consider it less mortification and more motivation. I'm a sucker for punishment.
Must go. The sweetness has run out. Spawnling is ready to crawl back into his pod and go to sleep.
It's 12:20AM on Sunday morning. There are two beings currently awake in our household. One has little horns underneath his brown locks and the other one is finding that midnight is the prime time to blog when you can't go to sleep for risk of being pommeled by miscellaneous items from the night stand.
Yes, he's really like that. No, I don't think chloroform is the answer in this case, although the thought has crossed my mind. Among other reasons, it's just difficult finding a bottle of the stuff this late at night, you know?
So now that I have a reason to write about my dull life for the benefit of the entire interweb, I shall share with you the details of the last five days.
I decided that it was time for me to lose weight. Why? Because I weighed myself and was two pounds heavier than the last time I weighed myself, that's why.
What? Were you waiting for some startling revelation or something?
I'd love to say that an angel came down and sprinkled me with fairy dust... or, I guess that would be angel dust... and I had a spiritual awakening of some sort which propelled me to get fit. That would make for a great book, or at the very least a free trip to Oprah in a couple of years with a pair of my fat jeans tucked into the carry-on bag.
However, it was far more vain than that, I'm afraid. I'm just tired of being fat and stuff. Rotund. Rubenesque. Obese. Lard... ish. It's not that I hate myself, I just want to stop looking pregnant in anything with an empire waist. I want to wear a dress without shoving my spare tire into a pair of tummy tuckers. Walking on heels without fear of breaking my ankles would also be nice, please.
Want to know what I weigh? I'll tell you. I want to be all accountable and junk anyway. First, I'll tell you how tall I am. I'm 5'6" and 3/4. In school we were taught to round numbers to the nearest whole, so I'm 5'7". Being that extra inch gives me some extra pounds to play with before I get into "morbid obesity" land.
Ever been called morbidly obese? I have. And theoretically I'm a mere half point away on the BMI scale I found online. Damn. So I did what anyone would do and found another BMI scale to punch my vitals into. Still nearly morbid and still obese.
Thankfully there are many BMI calculators online.
Unfortunately I'm almost a fat goth on all of them. All I need is some black lipstick and a veil to complete the package.
On Tuesday morning I woke up and decided to weigh myself. I emptied my bladder first, of course, because that's at least a half pound. Then I stripped down to nothing, put the scale on a flat surface and made sure I had no jewelry on and that my hair was dry. Naked, I stood and awaited my fate.
252 pounds. You may gasp. I did. Then I sighed. Then I got off the scale, put some clothes on and vowed to only drink water all day.
When I came to my senses and had some toast, I thought about what I was going to do. That's just not an acceptable size for me. No, I'm not judging you. If you want to be 252 pounds you go right ahead. It's not a horrible place to be. My blood pressure and blood sugars are still fine. I do not need a crane to leave my home. I can even run around a bit and play with the kids.
It's not horrible. It's just not great, either.
I figure I'll start a weight loss blog (because, you know, I blog here so frequently these days that I obviously have time for yet another place to put my thoughts down) so I can document exactly what I'm doing to shed the pounds. So until then, I'll give you the skinny.
Hah! I love me!
I'm eating more fruit and vegetables. I'm eating far less junk food, saturated fat and simple carbs. I've been reading everything I can get my hands on about the glycemic index and how our bodies metabolize food.
Damn, I'm smart.
Anyway, this week has been awesome. No, not because I was in it. Because less of me was in it. Yesterday I weighed myself again - nekkid, empty bladder and brushed teeth this time because I'm sure I have obese plaque on my teeth - and was a whopping 2 1/2 pounds lighter. That's after only three days.
I told you I'm awesome!
And that was my week. I even asked Intrepid to take a really, really bad picture of me. It's a profile and it's in my fat clothes. Oh, you know what I mean by that: the clothes you only wear when you've slacked off on laundry? The ones that make you look like Shamu with hair? Yeah. Those. Want me to post it? I so will. Pixie was mortified i would do that to myself, but I consider it less mortification and more motivation. I'm a sucker for punishment.
Must go. The sweetness has run out. Spawnling is ready to crawl back into his pod and go to sleep.