Total Weight Lost: 12 lbs
You may have noticed that it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written. Five weeks to be exact. Sometimes, no news is good news; this is not one of those times. Remember my proverbial diet wagon? I didn’t fall off. I was thrown off. And then that diet wagon rolled right over me.
Apparently I do not blog while on vacation. Nor, apparently do I diet. Nor do I exercise (much). I think that’s pretty normal. Vacations are for cramming in all the fun you can: spending time with family, getting together with friends, checking out new places and rediscovering old ones you used to love. Dieting can easily be forgotten, and when vacation only lasts a week or so, this isn’t an issue. The problem is I vacationed for a month. “Whoops,” hardly seems to cover it.
But I’m not one to dwell on past mistakes; “onward and upward,” I say. The question is: will I still make my 20 by 30 goal? The short answer is, “no.” The long answer is, “Nooooooooooooooooooo.” It’s just not going to happen. I think as of this morning I was back to being down only 12 pounds. I think 8 lbs in a week is a bit insane, especially when that week includes your 30th birthday. Because if there is one thing I plan to have on my 30th birthday, it is cake. Chocolate cake. And plenty of it.
So my weight goal hasn’t been met, but I don’t think my little experiment was a total waste. My biggest success? Allison hasn’t asked for fruit snacks in ages. She stopped asking for granola bars. She helps herself to carrot sticks and low-fat string cheese. She asks for apples and says, “That’s a healthy choice!” She hasn’t stopped asking for suckers yet, but I can’t blame her. Afterall, we all have our ‘cokes’.
Our pantry is pretty healthy these days. If there is one thing I’ve learned over the last six months, it’s that I have no will-power. None. But knowing is half the battle, right? I am confident that I will make it to my goal weight while I’m still 30, and when I do, I’ll tell you all about it right here. Until then, I’ll be getting my writing fix at my new blog: Happyland.
Thanks for all the support!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Week 19: Wining, dining and a blast from the past
Total weight lost: 16 lbs
I’ve been in Washington for just over a week now, and I’m pleased to say that all heck did not break loose just because I am on vacation. Yes, I’ve been enjoying the occasional BBQ, the frequent meal out, and I’ve raided the goodie cupboard more times than I would like to admit, but happily the scale has not shown any ill effects from my choices thus far.
I spent the first part of this week cleaning out my childhood room. It’s a task I’ve been meaning to accomplish for ages, and I figured what better time than when I’ll be staying in the room next door for an entire month. I found a lot of treasures and a lot of junk. I discovered my pre-historic gameboy in like-new condition, safely nestled in its uber-cool fanny pack case (Yes, I tried it on. And yes, I took a picture). I found my first camera, ‘le click,’ with a half-used roll of film in it, which I intend to complete and have developed. I re-read a diary entitled, “My Darkest Secrets,” where the first thing I wrote was, “I got a 3.95 GPA last quarter.” I kid you not. My GPA was apparently my darkest secret, followed by: “There is a boy at school that I think I like” and “Today we started PE at school”.
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| Back when overalls were cool...ish |
I also finally got rid of a lot of the clothes I had stashed away and forgotten about. I tried on my old prom dresses (they fit!), and I made myself give away my last remaining pair of overalls. I know they’ve been out of style since the 90s, but they are just so darn comfortable. I thought about keeping them for old time’s sake, but I knew the temptation would be too great. Sure, I may start by limiting myself to donning them strictly as lounge-wear, but it would only be a matter of time before they would make their way back into my wardrobe full time. I just can’t risk another embarrassing raid by the fashion police.
In other news, last night I had the pleasure of hanging out in Seattle with a couple of good friends. I had forgotten how much I love the city: the view of the water and the space needle from I-5, the ‘rain’ that never really gets you very wet but can wreak havoc on carefully curled hair, the place where the famous pink toe truck used to reside. And now, I can add a new item to my long list of things I love about Seattle: El Gaucho.
It’s supposedly a very well known steakhouse, though I had never heard of it until last night. I have it on good authority that Bill Gates takes his guests there (which may explain why I have not heard of it—Bill and I run with slightly different crowds). Anyway, as we approached the restaurant, I saw a man standing outside the door behind a podium, just like they do at fancy clubs in the movies. I assumed his purpose was to kindly decline admittance to those who were not cool enough to enter, and I had a fleeting moment of panic (perhaps brought on by my recent trip down memory lane) that he wasn’t going to open the door. Fortunately, I had left my overalls at home, and he just politely held the door as we all trooped in.
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| The flaming Bananas Foster |
The inside was amazing: black-leather covered doors led to a dining room and bar that epitomized ‘classy’. Elegant black booths sat empty but beautifully set, and the pristine bar was stocked with bottles of what I can only assume were the most expensive liquors. We were not there for the alcohol (though the cocktails were exceptional). We were there for dessert.
The waitresses (yes, we had more than one), brought us menus and placed our napkins on our laps. I ordered the Chocolate Bourbon cake, while my partners in crime requested a house specialty, Bananas Foster. Both were indescribably delicious. Yes, I shared my chocolate cake like the polite girl that I am. Well, I shared two bites. After that, I was perfectly content to finish off every last candied pecan all by myself. It was the kind of dessert that’s worth falling off the diet wagon for. Heck, I’d take a running jump off the diet wagon for that particular cake. And that’s not all. At El Gaucho, I was even escorted to the ladies’ room by one of the well-dressed waiters. Oddly awesome, right?
Here’s to being back in the Pacific Northwest, if only for a month. I’ve missed it!
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Week 18: 20 is the new 30...
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| The only time it wasn't my fault... |
I’d like to say that the three weeks without my scale were liberating and successful: I rediscovered my love for fruits, vegetables, and portion control. I forged a healthy relationship with myself that had nothing to do with a number. I slipped easily into my ridiculously small jeans. But that would be a big fat lie. I’d also like to say that it wasn’t my fault. I was stressed. I was tired. I was too busy, too bored. But that would also be a big fat lie. Because the truth is, the only time anybody has put cake in my mouth for me was at my wedding.
So here is what really happened over the last three weeks. I did feel a bit liberated without the constant reminder of what effect my dietary choices had on my weight. On previous Fridays, I would be careful of what I ate because I knew my weigh in was the following day. But without that annoying detail hanging over me, I felt free to eat all the salt I wanted with my chicken strips and fries.
I figured if my weight got out of hand, I’d notice because my clothes would be tighter. Seems like a sound theory, right? There was just one fatal flaw: you may remember that I wear a lot of elastic pajama pants. And now that it’s summer, a lot of dresses. It’s amazing how stretchy cotton can be. Looking back, I imagine I could have gained about 10 pounds before noticing much of a difference in the way my clothes fit. It was nothing short of a miracle that I only gained one.
That brings my total weight loss to 14 pounds, which leaves me 16 pounds to go in my last seven weeks, if I want to meet by goal. And that’s the million dollar question: do I want to meet my goal? Sure, it would be great to see what I look like at a BMI of 22, but honestly, I think that weight will not be sustainable for me. After all, I haven’t weighed that little since my sophomore year of high school. And I didn’t even have hips yet then.
I’m not giving up on my goal; I intend to keep going with weight watchers and see where my body wants to be. But I don’t intend to start starving myself or exercising 2 hours a day just to get to that point by my 30th birthday. Especially since I’ll be on vacation for four of my seven remaining weeks. I don’t know about you all, but I usually don’t come back from vacation weighing less than I did when I left.
I think my new goal by my 30th is to be down twenty pounds. I like this new goal for a couple of reasons. For one, I will be at the weight I was when Allison turned one. And though I could see all kinds of flaws at the time, I look back at the pictures and think: Holy schmoly I looked GOOD! Hindsight is 20/20, and in my case a bit conceited.
The other reason I like the new twenty pound goal? It’s what my doctor suggested. When he told me I should only expect to lose a couple of pounds a month, I was a bit disappointed. And skeptical. I thought surely I’d be able to lose a bit more than that. But maybe he knew what he was talking about. Maybe. He does have a degree in medicine after all.
So here’s to “Twenty by Thirty.” Am I copping out by making my goal easier? Maybe. But I’ll still be twenty pounds lighter. My BMI will be well within the normal limits. I’ll still have done my body a favor by watching what I eat and exercising daily. And maybe I’ll look back at pictures of my 30th birthday and think, “Holy schmoly I looked good!”.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Week 15: I feel pretty....
Total Weight Lost: ??
My apologies for being late with my blog, again. This week’s tardiness had nothing to do with a sudden inexplicable crankiness. Quite the opposite really. I was just too busy baking (and eating) cookies and scarfing down other forbidden foods to sit down and write. Also, I didn’t want to get chocolate on my keyboard.
Yes, I’m admitting it. I had a rough week diet-wise. Though quite honestly, I think a few days a month where you completely ignore the rules of dieting are necessary. Seeing your clothes get looser and feeling energetic and in control is nice. But so is sitting lethargically on the couch eating ice cream and chips right out of their containers. Which pretty much sums up my week.
I felt terrific at the beginning of the week. My pre-pregnancy clothes, with the exception of one ridiculously tiny pair of jeans that I’m beginning to suspect must have shrunk in the wash, fit. I felt healthy and strong. I had been flossing my teeth. I liked what I was seeing in the mirror. I was, in fact, feeling so good about myself that I was half-way through a very enthusiastic, albeit tone-deaf, solo performance of West Side Story’s “I Feel Pretty” one morning when I made the mistake of getting on the scale.
To my horror, the scale read higher than it had the previous week. Perhaps a saner person than myself would have hopped right back off again and finished the song with a flourish. Not me, my friends. Not me. I, instead, spent the remainder of the week sitting lethargically on the couch eating ice cream and chips out of their containers. But ces’t la vie. You win some, you lose some. Or more appropriately: you lose some, you gain some.
Anyway, as of today I’m off the couch and back on the proverbial wagon. In an effort to avoid what I will refer to as “scale paranoia,” I am putting up the scale for the next three weeks. The next time I weigh myself will be Saturday, July 2nd, which coincidentally is the day before I leave for Washington!
In happier news, I took Allie to watch the senior recital of Ballet Caliente, a school of dance here in Southern Maryland. It was amazing, and Allie loved watching all the dancers in their beautiful costumes. I am thinking of signing her up for dance this fall. Even if she is so unfortunate as to inherit my lack of grace and coordination, she will still look adorable in a tutu.
My apologies for being late with my blog, again. This week’s tardiness had nothing to do with a sudden inexplicable crankiness. Quite the opposite really. I was just too busy baking (and eating) cookies and scarfing down other forbidden foods to sit down and write. Also, I didn’t want to get chocolate on my keyboard.
Yes, I’m admitting it. I had a rough week diet-wise. Though quite honestly, I think a few days a month where you completely ignore the rules of dieting are necessary. Seeing your clothes get looser and feeling energetic and in control is nice. But so is sitting lethargically on the couch eating ice cream and chips right out of their containers. Which pretty much sums up my week.
I felt terrific at the beginning of the week. My pre-pregnancy clothes, with the exception of one ridiculously tiny pair of jeans that I’m beginning to suspect must have shrunk in the wash, fit. I felt healthy and strong. I had been flossing my teeth. I liked what I was seeing in the mirror. I was, in fact, feeling so good about myself that I was half-way through a very enthusiastic, albeit tone-deaf, solo performance of West Side Story’s “I Feel Pretty” one morning when I made the mistake of getting on the scale.
To my horror, the scale read higher than it had the previous week. Perhaps a saner person than myself would have hopped right back off again and finished the song with a flourish. Not me, my friends. Not me. I, instead, spent the remainder of the week sitting lethargically on the couch eating ice cream and chips out of their containers. But ces’t la vie. You win some, you lose some. Or more appropriately: you lose some, you gain some.
Anyway, as of today I’m off the couch and back on the proverbial wagon. In an effort to avoid what I will refer to as “scale paranoia,” I am putting up the scale for the next three weeks. The next time I weigh myself will be Saturday, July 2nd, which coincidentally is the day before I leave for Washington!
In happier news, I took Allie to watch the senior recital of Ballet Caliente, a school of dance here in Southern Maryland. It was amazing, and Allie loved watching all the dancers in their beautiful costumes. I am thinking of signing her up for dance this fall. Even if she is so unfortunate as to inherit my lack of grace and coordination, she will still look adorable in a tutu.
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| Ready for the Fairy Festival |
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Week 14: The Elusive 8 Hours
There are plenty of articles out about the correlation between getting enough sleep and successful weight loss. Just google ‘weight loss + sleep’ and see for yourself. Why is sleep so important? Maybe it’s simple: maybe people who are sleep deprived need to drink more high calorie caffeinated beverages and eat more donuts at meetings to keep themselves from falling asleep. Or it may be more complicated: is there some link between metabolism and REM sleep? Whatever the reason, it seems experts agree that sleep is a vital component of a healthy lifestyle.
Unfortunately for me, a healthy amount of sleep remains ever elusive. My sleep deprivation is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a mystery. I know the exact cause. Well, causes. There are two. I fondly refer to them as Allison and Nicole, and when I am not feeling so fond, I refer to them as Alarm Clocks One and Two (AC1/2).
It’s not that I had perfect sleep habits before having children. In high school, I got up at 5 am for jazz band and often didn’t get home again until after 10 pm. In college, I got in the habit of staying up until 3 am and waking up at 7:50 for my 8 am calculus class. But I was young and invincible; I had weekends and summer vacations to catch up on sleep.
After Chris and I were married, we seemed to have copious amounts of sleep. We were on a pretty regular schedule during the week, and weekends were for sleeping in, lazing around watching Smallville, and squeezing in afternoon naps. We scheduled the odd vacation or two where we had even more time for sleep. Like our first anniversary trip to Bull Shoals Lake in Arkansas. We were so well rested we had time for various other activities, which resulted in Allison nine months later and the end of sleep as we knew it.
Allison has many charming attributes, but ‘good sleeper’ has never been among them. I blame myself to some extent. I had little experience with babies, and I honestly didn’t realize you had to teach babies to sleep. I figured Allie would just fall asleep on her own if she was tired, like I did. She was over a year by the time I got her on a regular nap schedule, and though we had weaned her from night feedings by 9 months, she was still waking up multiple times a night by 18 months. I remember waking up to her wails, stumbling into her room, and patting her back, willing her to go back to sleep. I’d slowly remove my hand and count to one hundred before attempting to creep out of her room. Sadly, by this time in my life, my knees had started to pop. More often than not my creaking joints would wake her when I tried to leave, and I’d have to start all over again.
Chris eventually convinced me to let her work it out on her own at night, which led to a brief interval of good nights for all. We were so giddy from being well rested that we decided to have another child. Of course, a baby on the way meant that it was time to move Allison out of her crib: a move that would seemingly squash all hope of a full night of sleep. Ever. Again.
Because it is virtually impossible to force a child to stay in her ‘big girl’ bed. You can the lock the door (believe me, we’ve tried), but you can’t control what she chooses to do behind that locked door. And AC1 rarely chooses to sleep. Besides, once you’ve started potty training, a child without an exit plan is the last thing you want.
Which brings me to the situation we are facing now. Allie gets up anywhere from one to four times every night. The list of reasons she gives for being out of bed is long and varied: “I need to go potty.”
“I ran out of water.”
“Will you please sit on my bed?”
“Something is wrong with my blanket!”
“I need a glass of milk.”
“I fell out of bed”
And my personal favorite, “Mommy, may I please have a hug?”
And that’s just during the hours that it remains dark. As soon as it’s light outside, we face a multitude of other bedroom visits: “Mommy, it’s light outside, it is time to get up!”
“Mommy, is it morning yet?”
“Mommy, now is it morning?”
“Mommy, I think it’s morning.”
We solved these issues to some extent by insisting that she stay in her room until 7 am. If she wakes up before then, she has quiet time in her room. It’s not fool proof. Most mornings, we spend more time asking Allie to go back to her room than actually sleeping, but at least we are still lying in bed. Exactly at seven, our favorite little early bird is back in our room: “Mommy, it is seven now. My clock has a seven on it, and I see yours does too. That means it’s time to get up. Get up, Mommy. Get up!!” At least she is cheerful.
Nicole has been a much better sleeper so far. She gets up at most once a night, and she just eats and goes back to sleep. She has been known to sleep in until 9 am, and is rarely up before 7. But between Nicole’s once nightly wake up call and Allie’s 3 or 4 nightly visitations, there is not a whole lot of sleeping going on in our household. Which makes me hope that, at least for now, a healthy diet and exercise routine is enough. Maybe there will be time for sleep in eighteen
years...
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Week 13: Bikini Ready Fast
Total Weight Lost: 14 lbs
Last week I asked you for recommendations about adding toning exercises to my routine. I was especially flattered by the suggestion to alternate a minute of walking with a minute of push-ups, because you implied that I am capable of doing a full minute of push-ups. I am, in fact, capable of doing two. Not two minutes. Two push-ups. And not real push-ups either--the kind where you put your knees down.
I think interval training would be a great step up for me in the workout world: I’ve heard it brings fantastic results. But for now, I’ve decided to ease myself into strength training by using a workout video twice a week. The one I chose is called “Self: Bikini Ready Fast,” and it is available on Netflix for anybody who wants to check it out. The picture on the cover is of a tanned and toned woman in a little yellow bikini standing on the beach, and it promises results in just four weeks. I know, I know. The skeptic inside of me was shaking her head and laughing, while the rest of my naive self was busy picturing me tanned and toned in a little yellow bikini on the beach. But I actually do have some level-headed reasons for choosing this particular video.
For starters, it was recommended to me by a friend of mine who actually did see results in even less than four weeks. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, it is one of the few full body work out videos that does not require me to lie down on my back. This is beneficial because A. Our floors are hard wood and wildly uncomfortable, and B. Every time I lie down, Allison finds it necessary to come and perform elbow drops and other various wrestling maneuvers on me until I get up.
“Bikini Ready Fast” is made even more attractive in that there is only about a minute of any kind of floor work. You are supposed to do about 12 push-ups total, but you get to rest a little in between. Actually, I tend to rest a lot in between: I do my two girly push-ups (okay--one and a half) and then spend the duration of ‘floor work’ lying on my stomach waiting for the peppy instructor to congratulate me on a job well done and tell me it’s time to stretch.
The final perk of my video of choice? It does not require all that much coordination. Some of you may remember me at middle school dances. The rest of you will have to take my word for it: I am not remotely coordinated. I couldn’t even tie my shoes until I was 8 or 9, and some might argue there is still room for improvement. Fortunately, this video is simple enough that by the second or third time I tried it, I felt like I was getting most of the moves down.
Which means that in just four short weeks I will be posting pictures of my bikini ready self.
Kidding, kidding. I am not expecting to look like the woman on the cover of a magazine in four weeks, or ever (though if I do, you can bet I will be posting pictures). What I am hoping for is a little more definition in my arms and a metabolism boost. And who knows, maybe it’s already working. I did lose a pound and a half this week. Of course, that could be because I was too sore from working out to get off the couch and open the refrigerator...
Last week I asked you for recommendations about adding toning exercises to my routine. I was especially flattered by the suggestion to alternate a minute of walking with a minute of push-ups, because you implied that I am capable of doing a full minute of push-ups. I am, in fact, capable of doing two. Not two minutes. Two push-ups. And not real push-ups either--the kind where you put your knees down.
I think interval training would be a great step up for me in the workout world: I’ve heard it brings fantastic results. But for now, I’ve decided to ease myself into strength training by using a workout video twice a week. The one I chose is called “Self: Bikini Ready Fast,” and it is available on Netflix for anybody who wants to check it out. The picture on the cover is of a tanned and toned woman in a little yellow bikini standing on the beach, and it promises results in just four weeks. I know, I know. The skeptic inside of me was shaking her head and laughing, while the rest of my naive self was busy picturing me tanned and toned in a little yellow bikini on the beach. But I actually do have some level-headed reasons for choosing this particular video.
For starters, it was recommended to me by a friend of mine who actually did see results in even less than four weeks. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, it is one of the few full body work out videos that does not require me to lie down on my back. This is beneficial because A. Our floors are hard wood and wildly uncomfortable, and B. Every time I lie down, Allison finds it necessary to come and perform elbow drops and other various wrestling maneuvers on me until I get up.
“Bikini Ready Fast” is made even more attractive in that there is only about a minute of any kind of floor work. You are supposed to do about 12 push-ups total, but you get to rest a little in between. Actually, I tend to rest a lot in between: I do my two girly push-ups (okay--one and a half) and then spend the duration of ‘floor work’ lying on my stomach waiting for the peppy instructor to congratulate me on a job well done and tell me it’s time to stretch.
The final perk of my video of choice? It does not require all that much coordination. Some of you may remember me at middle school dances. The rest of you will have to take my word for it: I am not remotely coordinated. I couldn’t even tie my shoes until I was 8 or 9, and some might argue there is still room for improvement. Fortunately, this video is simple enough that by the second or third time I tried it, I felt like I was getting most of the moves down.
Which means that in just four short weeks I will be posting pictures of my bikini ready self.
Kidding, kidding. I am not expecting to look like the woman on the cover of a magazine in four weeks, or ever (though if I do, you can bet I will be posting pictures). What I am hoping for is a little more definition in my arms and a metabolism boost. And who knows, maybe it’s already working. I did lose a pound and a half this week. Of course, that could be because I was too sore from working out to get off the couch and open the refrigerator...
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Week 12: 12 weeks down, 12 weeks to go!
Total Weight Lost: 12 lbs
Total Waist Lost: 2.75 inches
Some of my more faithful readers may have noticed that I failed to blog last Saturday. I don’t have much of an excuse. Mostly it was because I woke up cranky and spent so much of my day stomping around, yelling at people, slamming doors and muttering under my breath that I had no time left to sit down and write. Which just goes to show that time can fly whether you are having fun or not.
But today the sun is shining, the kids are napping, and I am back to the wonderful world of blogging. And that ghastly scale of mine has not budged for 3 weeks. It’s not even the batteries. I checked. It’s just that I seem to have mastered the fine art of maintenance. I’m not really complaining--I’d much rather maintain than gain. However, I am not nearly as close to my goal weight as I am to my 30th birthday.
I have a couple of theories about my stunted weight loss. One of those theories involves the batch of snickerdoodles I made (and almost single handedly polished off) last week. Another is that my doctor’s prediction was right, and my weight loss has indeed tapered off to about 2 or 3 pounds a month. Finally, there is a general consensus among baby books that a nursing mother often cannot lose the last ten or so pounds until the baby is weaned. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to not let it bother me. I will just focus on eating healthy whole foods (most of the time) and see where it gets me.
Speaking of whole foods, my first trip to Whole Foods was an enormous success. As suggested by my dear friend, Colleen, it is truly the Nordstrom of grocery stores. We have now been enjoying only grass fed, humanely raised beef. It is more expensive, but it doesn’t affect our budget much since we only eat it about once a week. For the time being, I am still buying all of our chicken in bulk at BJ’s. You have to crawl before you can walk, right?
And speaking of walking, that is still the entirety of my exercise plan. I always thought I would switch to jogging at some point, but I’m beginning to agree with my wise (not to mention good-looking) husband: there is simply no need to run unless someone is chasing you. Happily, I am rarely chased.
I’m sticking with walking as my cardio exercise of choice, but I do feel the need to amp up my workouts. With the arrival of warm weather came the necessity of short sleeved shirts and skirts, and my problem areas have become a bit more apparent. I’d like to start a toning program, but I am having a hard time committing to more than 30 minutes of structured exercise a day. A question for my readers that know a thing or two about exercise (and I know you are out there--I’ve seen your ridiculously toned arms and flat abs in your Facebook pictures): Would it be beneficial to give up two of my cardio days in exchange for resistance training? Readers who have naturally toned arms and flat abs: please keep your comments to yourself.
Total Waist Lost: 2.75 inches
Some of my more faithful readers may have noticed that I failed to blog last Saturday. I don’t have much of an excuse. Mostly it was because I woke up cranky and spent so much of my day stomping around, yelling at people, slamming doors and muttering under my breath that I had no time left to sit down and write. Which just goes to show that time can fly whether you are having fun or not.
But today the sun is shining, the kids are napping, and I am back to the wonderful world of blogging. And that ghastly scale of mine has not budged for 3 weeks. It’s not even the batteries. I checked. It’s just that I seem to have mastered the fine art of maintenance. I’m not really complaining--I’d much rather maintain than gain. However, I am not nearly as close to my goal weight as I am to my 30th birthday.
I have a couple of theories about my stunted weight loss. One of those theories involves the batch of snickerdoodles I made (and almost single handedly polished off) last week. Another is that my doctor’s prediction was right, and my weight loss has indeed tapered off to about 2 or 3 pounds a month. Finally, there is a general consensus among baby books that a nursing mother often cannot lose the last ten or so pounds until the baby is weaned. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to not let it bother me. I will just focus on eating healthy whole foods (most of the time) and see where it gets me.
Speaking of whole foods, my first trip to Whole Foods was an enormous success. As suggested by my dear friend, Colleen, it is truly the Nordstrom of grocery stores. We have now been enjoying only grass fed, humanely raised beef. It is more expensive, but it doesn’t affect our budget much since we only eat it about once a week. For the time being, I am still buying all of our chicken in bulk at BJ’s. You have to crawl before you can walk, right?
And speaking of walking, that is still the entirety of my exercise plan. I always thought I would switch to jogging at some point, but I’m beginning to agree with my wise (not to mention good-looking) husband: there is simply no need to run unless someone is chasing you. Happily, I am rarely chased.
I’m sticking with walking as my cardio exercise of choice, but I do feel the need to amp up my workouts. With the arrival of warm weather came the necessity of short sleeved shirts and skirts, and my problem areas have become a bit more apparent. I’d like to start a toning program, but I am having a hard time committing to more than 30 minutes of structured exercise a day. A question for my readers that know a thing or two about exercise (and I know you are out there--I’ve seen your ridiculously toned arms and flat abs in your Facebook pictures): Would it be beneficial to give up two of my cardio days in exchange for resistance training? Readers who have naturally toned arms and flat abs: please keep your comments to yourself.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Week 10: Hitch up the wagon, Pa. We’re goin’ to town!
Total Weight Lost: 12 lbs
I’ve only been grocery shopping once since deciding to ‘eat clean’ whenever possible, but it seems it will be harder than I thought. I have vague recollections of grocery shopping in Washington state and seeing entire walls full of organic produce and aisles devoted to organic and natural snack foods, and I naively expected a similar experience here in southern Maryland. Instead, I went to three separate stores and left with just a few organic finds: carrots, green bananas, and a bag of apples.
I think a CSA or a farmer’s market is going to be the way to go for organic produce in our area, at least in the summer. I’ve also found an organic berry farm nearby, and I hope to take Allison to pick strawberries there soon. On the way to the airport I passed a ‘farm fresh eggs’ sign, so it may be possible to get cage free eggs here as well. Finding humanely raised meat and poultry is going to be the biggest obstacle.
A good friend of mine, Marg, has been vegan for over 20 years, and she is very careful about what her family eats. Her husband and daughter eat meat, and I asked her where she shops. It turns out that the closest place to get humanely raised meat is, well, not very close. Once a month Marg’s family drives two hours to Annapolis, home of the nearest “Whole Foods” store. I don’t know if this monthly trek will be doable for Chris and me, but I intend to make my inaugural trip to Whole Foods tomorrow to find out.
In the 11 months that we have been here we have made it into Annapolis, Baltimore, and DC a handful of times. They are all about two hours away, so it’s a bit of an occasion when we decide to ‘go to town’. We make sure the girls get baths the night before, and we all put on our best clothes. Sometimes, I even do my hair and makeup. We always plan to get an early start, so I have plenty of time to tromp around the house hiking up my pants and speaking in my best country hick accent: “Git the young-uns, Pa, and hitch up the wagon. We’s goin’ to TOWN!” It may not be funny to everyone, but as an avid “Little House on the Prairie” fan, I think it’s a riot.
Anyway, tomorrow will not feel like quite such an ordeal because Allison is staying at home with Chris. My sister, Laura, is visiting and we are not only going to Whole Foods, but to an actual mall. I can barely contain my excitement. Going to malls with my sister (and/or my mom) are my third most missed thing about Washington, right behind 1. family and friends, and 2. the weather. I’m especially thrilled because this mall has a Nordstrom, and the only thing I love more than malls are malls with Nordstroms.
I know some of you, maybe many of you, are thinking, “Nordstrom’s is ridiculously expensive.” Which is absolutely true. But I am more than willing to pay a higher price for what I consider to be a truly enjoyable experience. I am not the kind of girl who delights in flipping through racks crammed with clothes, looking for that spectacular bargain while elbowing away the millions of others looking for that same spectacular bargain. No, I am the kind of girl who likes to browse elegantly displayed, spacious racks of clothes that are neatly ordered by size and style. I like to have my clothes whisked off to a luxurious dressing room by a well dressed, polite sales associate the moment I pick them up. I like getting constructive criticism and thoughtful recommendations while trying things on. I even like having someone tell me exactly what size bra I should buy and then waiting in the dressing room for well-fitting bras to appear as if by magic. And perhaps most of all, I like the Nordstrom’s Cafe, where I can get a grilled cheese sandwich, french fries with fancy seasoning, a side of fresh fruit, and a notoriously great tasting coke all for five dollars. Honestly people, what’s not to love?
But I digress. Sadly, Nordstrom has not yet offered to sponsor my blog (nor, oddly, has coca-cola), so I will return to the topic at hand: my weight. I am now down 12 pounds, and I’m just 5 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight. Which means I can put on my ‘skinny’ jeans without stopping to rest, and there is just a mini-muffin top instead of the costco sized one that was present last time I put them on. I am feeling good about my decreased intake of processed foods, and when I do eat them, I find that they usually don’t taste quite as good as I remember. Except for Skinny Cow chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. I had one two days ago, and it was every bit as good as I remember.
I’ve only been grocery shopping once since deciding to ‘eat clean’ whenever possible, but it seems it will be harder than I thought. I have vague recollections of grocery shopping in Washington state and seeing entire walls full of organic produce and aisles devoted to organic and natural snack foods, and I naively expected a similar experience here in southern Maryland. Instead, I went to three separate stores and left with just a few organic finds: carrots, green bananas, and a bag of apples.
I think a CSA or a farmer’s market is going to be the way to go for organic produce in our area, at least in the summer. I’ve also found an organic berry farm nearby, and I hope to take Allison to pick strawberries there soon. On the way to the airport I passed a ‘farm fresh eggs’ sign, so it may be possible to get cage free eggs here as well. Finding humanely raised meat and poultry is going to be the biggest obstacle.
A good friend of mine, Marg, has been vegan for over 20 years, and she is very careful about what her family eats. Her husband and daughter eat meat, and I asked her where she shops. It turns out that the closest place to get humanely raised meat is, well, not very close. Once a month Marg’s family drives two hours to Annapolis, home of the nearest “Whole Foods” store. I don’t know if this monthly trek will be doable for Chris and me, but I intend to make my inaugural trip to Whole Foods tomorrow to find out.
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| Laura and Allie in 'town' |
In the 11 months that we have been here we have made it into Annapolis, Baltimore, and DC a handful of times. They are all about two hours away, so it’s a bit of an occasion when we decide to ‘go to town’. We make sure the girls get baths the night before, and we all put on our best clothes. Sometimes, I even do my hair and makeup. We always plan to get an early start, so I have plenty of time to tromp around the house hiking up my pants and speaking in my best country hick accent: “Git the young-uns, Pa, and hitch up the wagon. We’s goin’ to TOWN!” It may not be funny to everyone, but as an avid “Little House on the Prairie” fan, I think it’s a riot.
Anyway, tomorrow will not feel like quite such an ordeal because Allison is staying at home with Chris. My sister, Laura, is visiting and we are not only going to Whole Foods, but to an actual mall. I can barely contain my excitement. Going to malls with my sister (and/or my mom) are my third most missed thing about Washington, right behind 1. family and friends, and 2. the weather. I’m especially thrilled because this mall has a Nordstrom, and the only thing I love more than malls are malls with Nordstroms.
I know some of you, maybe many of you, are thinking, “Nordstrom’s is ridiculously expensive.” Which is absolutely true. But I am more than willing to pay a higher price for what I consider to be a truly enjoyable experience. I am not the kind of girl who delights in flipping through racks crammed with clothes, looking for that spectacular bargain while elbowing away the millions of others looking for that same spectacular bargain. No, I am the kind of girl who likes to browse elegantly displayed, spacious racks of clothes that are neatly ordered by size and style. I like to have my clothes whisked off to a luxurious dressing room by a well dressed, polite sales associate the moment I pick them up. I like getting constructive criticism and thoughtful recommendations while trying things on. I even like having someone tell me exactly what size bra I should buy and then waiting in the dressing room for well-fitting bras to appear as if by magic. And perhaps most of all, I like the Nordstrom’s Cafe, where I can get a grilled cheese sandwich, french fries with fancy seasoning, a side of fresh fruit, and a notoriously great tasting coke all for five dollars. Honestly people, what’s not to love?
But I digress. Sadly, Nordstrom has not yet offered to sponsor my blog (nor, oddly, has coca-cola), so I will return to the topic at hand: my weight. I am now down 12 pounds, and I’m just 5 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight. Which means I can put on my ‘skinny’ jeans without stopping to rest, and there is just a mini-muffin top instead of the costco sized one that was present last time I put them on. I am feeling good about my decreased intake of processed foods, and when I do eat them, I find that they usually don’t taste quite as good as I remember. Except for Skinny Cow chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. I had one two days ago, and it was every bit as good as I remember.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Week 9: This Omnivore's Dilemma
Total Weight Lost: 10 lbs
A month or so ago, a friend of mine recommended I read, “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” by Michael Pollan. For her, it acted as the catalyst for a complete diet makeover. I did not have high hopes that it would do the same for me. After all, I watched “Supersize Me” a couple of years ago and the only thing I got out of it was an increased hankering for french fries. But I consider this friend to be quite intelligent and reasonable (we both have a completely rational fear of moths), and I decided to give the book a try. I’ve had it for weeks, but I just started reading it on Tuesday. I’m not quite finished, and I already have plenty to think about. I can no longer eat lunch blissfully ignorant about where my food came from.
Pollan explains that the omnivore’s dilemma is having the ability to eat lots of different foods, but having the responsibility of knowing which of those foods are actually beneficial. The dilemma has been around for ages, but it is now more complicated than ever. We have literally thousands of foods at our fingertips (or at least a short car ride away at the grocery store), and most of us have no clue how they got there. Which is why Pollan wrote his book: to reveal to us the secret life of the American food.
The book is chock full of interesting tid-bits, many of which I have already forgotten. A few things, however, have really stayed with me. The first one is the extent to which pesticides get into our food supply. I think it is pretty common knowledge that pesticides are used on the majority of American farms, but I had no idea just how bad they are for us and our environment. And they are in EVERYTHING. Because they are used to grow corn, and it turns out, corn is in everything. Which brings me to the next sliver of information that is now rooted in my brain forever:
Almost all of the cattle raised for beef in the United States are raised on corn. And cows do not naturally eat corn. I think this is another thing that we all, no matter how removed we are from farming, know. We picture cows out in green pastures of grass eating, well, green pastures of grass. Not being stuffed full of corn and several other much more disgusting things that I will not mention here in case any of you are enjoying a nice juicy hamburger while reading this. The point is, it’s not good for cows to eat corn, and it is not good for us to eat cows who have been eating corn.
Now that I have this information I have to decide what to do with it. I could probably do the convenient thing, which is nothing, and rest assured that in a matter of weeks my mind, which becomes more feeble every day, will forget. I could also do the responsible (albeit expensive) thing: refuse to buy produce that is not organically grown, only buy beef which is pasture raised, and only buy meat which is humanely raised. Well, as humanely as possible before it is slaughtered for my dinner (this blog begs the question of vegetarianism, but I will save that for another entry).
In all likelihood, I will be somewhere in the middle. I think I will buy organic whenever I can, and look into the meat options in southern Maryland. I have not seen any pasture raised beef for sale here, but then again, I haven’t been looking. The biggest thing I can do to vote ‘no’ on pesticides is to join our local CSA. We have a certified organic farm right here in Lexington Park which allows its CSA members to ‘shop’ at a private farmer’s market every Friday afternoon. To find your own local options, check out http://www.localharvest.org.
In other news, Allison got her first ever hair cut this week! It was not by choice (I’ve been waiting so her Grandma could do it), but by necessity. We left New York late Monday night, and didn’t get home until 2 am on Tuesday. We all slept in and spent the majority of the day relaxing and recuperating. It wasn’t until Wednesday morning, when I finally got around to combing Allie’s hair, that I noticed the Swedish Fish egg matted in her curls. Mother of the year, right? Anyway, I found a salon that could get us in. I told Allie that I would get my haircut too, so she could see what it would be like. She actually got to see exactly what it would be like because they gave Allison and me identical haircuts. The cut looks cute on Allie, but I look like a thirty year old woman with the hair style of a three year old. Inventor of the ponytail--I salute you.
A month or so ago, a friend of mine recommended I read, “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” by Michael Pollan. For her, it acted as the catalyst for a complete diet makeover. I did not have high hopes that it would do the same for me. After all, I watched “Supersize Me” a couple of years ago and the only thing I got out of it was an increased hankering for french fries. But I consider this friend to be quite intelligent and reasonable (we both have a completely rational fear of moths), and I decided to give the book a try. I’ve had it for weeks, but I just started reading it on Tuesday. I’m not quite finished, and I already have plenty to think about. I can no longer eat lunch blissfully ignorant about where my food came from.
Pollan explains that the omnivore’s dilemma is having the ability to eat lots of different foods, but having the responsibility of knowing which of those foods are actually beneficial. The dilemma has been around for ages, but it is now more complicated than ever. We have literally thousands of foods at our fingertips (or at least a short car ride away at the grocery store), and most of us have no clue how they got there. Which is why Pollan wrote his book: to reveal to us the secret life of the American food.
The book is chock full of interesting tid-bits, many of which I have already forgotten. A few things, however, have really stayed with me. The first one is the extent to which pesticides get into our food supply. I think it is pretty common knowledge that pesticides are used on the majority of American farms, but I had no idea just how bad they are for us and our environment. And they are in EVERYTHING. Because they are used to grow corn, and it turns out, corn is in everything. Which brings me to the next sliver of information that is now rooted in my brain forever:
Almost all of the cattle raised for beef in the United States are raised on corn. And cows do not naturally eat corn. I think this is another thing that we all, no matter how removed we are from farming, know. We picture cows out in green pastures of grass eating, well, green pastures of grass. Not being stuffed full of corn and several other much more disgusting things that I will not mention here in case any of you are enjoying a nice juicy hamburger while reading this. The point is, it’s not good for cows to eat corn, and it is not good for us to eat cows who have been eating corn.
Now that I have this information I have to decide what to do with it. I could probably do the convenient thing, which is nothing, and rest assured that in a matter of weeks my mind, which becomes more feeble every day, will forget. I could also do the responsible (albeit expensive) thing: refuse to buy produce that is not organically grown, only buy beef which is pasture raised, and only buy meat which is humanely raised. Well, as humanely as possible before it is slaughtered for my dinner (this blog begs the question of vegetarianism, but I will save that for another entry).
In all likelihood, I will be somewhere in the middle. I think I will buy organic whenever I can, and look into the meat options in southern Maryland. I have not seen any pasture raised beef for sale here, but then again, I haven’t been looking. The biggest thing I can do to vote ‘no’ on pesticides is to join our local CSA. We have a certified organic farm right here in Lexington Park which allows its CSA members to ‘shop’ at a private farmer’s market every Friday afternoon. To find your own local options, check out http://www.localharvest.org.
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| Allie with the ultimate bribe: a tootsie pop |
In other news, Allison got her first ever hair cut this week! It was not by choice (I’ve been waiting so her Grandma could do it), but by necessity. We left New York late Monday night, and didn’t get home until 2 am on Tuesday. We all slept in and spent the majority of the day relaxing and recuperating. It wasn’t until Wednesday morning, when I finally got around to combing Allie’s hair, that I noticed the Swedish Fish egg matted in her curls. Mother of the year, right? Anyway, I found a salon that could get us in. I told Allie that I would get my haircut too, so she could see what it would be like. She actually got to see exactly what it would be like because they gave Allison and me identical haircuts. The cut looks cute on Allie, but I look like a thirty year old woman with the hair style of a three year old. Inventor of the ponytail--I salute you.
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| Our mother-daughter hair cuts |
Friday, April 22, 2011
Week 8: Beware the bunny
Total Weight Lost: 11 lbs
Total Waist Lost: 2.5 inches
Last night was a little rough. Nicole actually slept really well--from 7 pm to 8 am, getting up only once to eat at 4:30. But my kids have worked out some kind of elaborate system that ensures Chris and I never sleep more than a few hours at a time, and I guess Allison was on duty last night. She got up around midnight because it was “too dark” in her room. Around 2, we heard a loud thump, a louder cry, and then the pitter patter of little feet on the way to the end of our bed. “I fell out of bed,” Allie whined. Both times, Chris was kind enough to walk Allie back to her room, but apparently he was either too tired to hear my request that he have her use the potty, or he believed Allison when she said she didn’t need to go. Unfortunately, she is a bit notorious for lying about whether or not she needs to use the bathroom, and we all got up a third time to change her sheets at 4 am. My point: I did not have a lot of sleep, so you will have to excuse any typos and nonsensical rambling.
But I am not so tired as to think today is Saturday, my usual blogging day. We are leaving for New York City early tomorrow morning, and I’m certain I will not get up early enough to blog before we depart. Quite honestly, I think it’s best that I weigh in today anyway, because I fear the numbers will not look as good when I return from NYC.
I’m sure there are people out there who begin their Easter mornings with a sensible breakfast followed by a quiet church service where they politely decline the doughnuts at the doughnut social before returning home to their sensible lunch. I, however, like to begin my Easter morning with a giant hunk of bunny shaped dark chocolate, followed by a slab of my mom’s famous blueberry buckle. I then like to politely accept all of the candy that Allie offers me from her Easter egg hunt before returning to the table for a feast of honey baked ham, cheesy potatoes and buttery biscuits. Oh, and there are usually a couple of Reese’s peanut butter eggs in there somewhere as well.
Most years I at least make sure that the Easter bunny only brings candy that I can resist: Jelly Beans, Starbursts, suckers. Unfortunately, the Easter bunny went shopping hungry this year, and now we have three large bags of fun size Twix bars, Swedish Fish eggs, and Nestly Crunch eggs hidden in the closet. It is no small miracle that the bags remain unopened. But it is just a matter of time before the candy will be out, and it will begin calling to me in its little persuasive voice: “eat me! eat me! i’m yummy. i’m funsized. i’m so tiny it will hardly...” Sadly, I never hear the rest, because it is hard to talk when you are being eaten.
This year, I have further fueled the fires of my own demise by baking Easter cookies and a birthday cake for Chris with Allie. I use the words, “baking with Allie,” loosely because it turns out I am too much of a neat-nik to allow a three year old to do a great deal of helping. In reality, Allie got to cut out three egg cookies (which we promptly tested) before she was put to bed, leaving me to bake as neatly as I pleased. Her assistance with the apple cake was not much more involved; she was allowed to dump chopped apples from the measuring cup into a bowl and stir the dry ingredients for 10 seconds, or until flour started to fly out of the bowl, whichever came first. Anyhoo, the smell of baked apples, cinnamon and nutmeg are at this moment wafting in from the kitchen. I’m relived that it takes two hands to type; if I were proficient with one, I’d be using the other hand to transport warm apple cake directly from the pan to my mouth.
This weekend will be me against the four Cs (cookies, cake, candy, & chocolate). I figure that if I’m going to get out of this without undoing all of my hard work, I better have a game plan. I’ve decided to be relatively careful about what I eat on Saturday and Tuesday, our travel days. On Sunday, I will eat whatever I want (but not three or four helpings of whatever I want). Monday is Chris’ 30th birthday, and I plan to celebrate accordingly. If this means having birthday cake twice in one week, so be it. After all, I’d like to think he’d do the same for me.
Total Waist Lost: 2.5 inches
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| Our Easter cookies |
But I am not so tired as to think today is Saturday, my usual blogging day. We are leaving for New York City early tomorrow morning, and I’m certain I will not get up early enough to blog before we depart. Quite honestly, I think it’s best that I weigh in today anyway, because I fear the numbers will not look as good when I return from NYC.
I’m sure there are people out there who begin their Easter mornings with a sensible breakfast followed by a quiet church service where they politely decline the doughnuts at the doughnut social before returning home to their sensible lunch. I, however, like to begin my Easter morning with a giant hunk of bunny shaped dark chocolate, followed by a slab of my mom’s famous blueberry buckle. I then like to politely accept all of the candy that Allie offers me from her Easter egg hunt before returning to the table for a feast of honey baked ham, cheesy potatoes and buttery biscuits. Oh, and there are usually a couple of Reese’s peanut butter eggs in there somewhere as well.
Most years I at least make sure that the Easter bunny only brings candy that I can resist: Jelly Beans, Starbursts, suckers. Unfortunately, the Easter bunny went shopping hungry this year, and now we have three large bags of fun size Twix bars, Swedish Fish eggs, and Nestly Crunch eggs hidden in the closet. It is no small miracle that the bags remain unopened. But it is just a matter of time before the candy will be out, and it will begin calling to me in its little persuasive voice: “eat me! eat me! i’m yummy. i’m funsized. i’m so tiny it will hardly...” Sadly, I never hear the rest, because it is hard to talk when you are being eaten.
This year, I have further fueled the fires of my own demise by baking Easter cookies and a birthday cake for Chris with Allie. I use the words, “baking with Allie,” loosely because it turns out I am too much of a neat-nik to allow a three year old to do a great deal of helping. In reality, Allie got to cut out three egg cookies (which we promptly tested) before she was put to bed, leaving me to bake as neatly as I pleased. Her assistance with the apple cake was not much more involved; she was allowed to dump chopped apples from the measuring cup into a bowl and stir the dry ingredients for 10 seconds, or until flour started to fly out of the bowl, whichever came first. Anyhoo, the smell of baked apples, cinnamon and nutmeg are at this moment wafting in from the kitchen. I’m relived that it takes two hands to type; if I were proficient with one, I’d be using the other hand to transport warm apple cake directly from the pan to my mouth.
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| Chris' cake (it tastes much better than it looks) |
This weekend will be me against the four Cs (cookies, cake, candy, & chocolate). I figure that if I’m going to get out of this without undoing all of my hard work, I better have a game plan. I’ve decided to be relatively careful about what I eat on Saturday and Tuesday, our travel days. On Sunday, I will eat whatever I want (but not three or four helpings of whatever I want). Monday is Chris’ 30th birthday, and I plan to celebrate accordingly. If this means having birthday cake twice in one week, so be it. After all, I’d like to think he’d do the same for me.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Week 7: Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Moderation
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| Celebrating Grammy's Birthday |
I spent the first half of this week celebrating the normal results of Nicole’s blood work and my mom’s last few days in Maryland by drinking lots of coke and eating french fries. The second half of my week was spent trying to undo all the celebrating I did during the first half. Nicole, for her part, spent the entire week nursing every two hours and gobbling down jars of pureed bananas, squash, and sweet potatoes in a valiant attempt to gain enough weight that the doctors would never again need to send her to the hospital for tests.
I’m just seven weeks into my healthy living journey, and I’m already having a hard time remembering why I started. Sure, it feels great to see the excess pounds come off, and I know I’ve done a monumental thing for my body by over-hauling my diet, but the truth is, I miss all the junk. I miss picking up a 20 oz coke and a pack of those waxy chocolate Hostess donuts as a reward for doing the grocery shopping. I miss eating Lucky Charms for breakfast every morning. I miss going out to eat and ordering whatever I feel like having, calories be darned. And sometimes I look in the mirror and think, “It’s not so bad. So what if I never lose all of my pregnancy weight?” I believe that is why elastic pants were created. And black. Nothing says ‘slimming’ like a black sweat-suit, right? It would only take a second to delete this whole blog. If anybody asked about it I could just smile sweetly and say, “Me? Trying to lose 30 pounds? Why I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, and could you please just hold these chicken nuggets for a moment. It’s hard getting the cap off my coke one-handed...”
But I’ve been down that road before, and I don’t like where it leads. So I think I need to strike a balance: find a happy median between complete deprivation and utter indulgence. I thought the Skinny Cow chocolate fudge ice cream might be just such a median until I started calculating the costs of that particular habit. Two a day (no, not both for me--I got Chris hooked on the strawberry cheesecake ones) adds up to roughly $60 a month, and that’s not including tax. I can’t quite fathom that much of our grocery budget being spent on ice cream. Coke, maybe. But not ice cream.
And speaking of coke, what is it about that stuff that is so irresistible to me? I know the caffeine may play a part, but lots of things have caffeine. I’ve never been able to substitute with iced tea, coffee, or even diet coke. I watched a documentary on Coca-Cola a year or two ago, and it explained a little about the marketing campaign. They basically associated coke with fun, implying that it is nearly impossible to have one without the other. This campaign has been wildly successful with me, because nothing goes better with fun than an ice cold (but without ice) coca cola. A road trip is not a road trip without coke. It’s my beverage of choice at parties and barbecues. Sitting outside (in a bug-free environment) in the sun with a coke is the epitome of relaxation. Well, except for sitting inside on a rainy day with a coke. No, I just don’t see myself giving it up. Luckily, I have it on good authority that one (and sometimes even two) cokes can be enjoyed on a daily basis without adverse affects on the figure. Apparently, you just have to be very careful about what you eat the rest of the day.
For now, I will try to focus on the things I’m doing right. My whole family is eating out less, eating more fruits and vegetables, and almost exclusively eating 100% whole grain carbohydrates. I will accept that I am not, nor will I ever be, perfect. Likely, I will always want to eat chicken strips and home-made french fries on Friday nights. And I will want a coke to go with them. And I will want a giant piece of chocolate cake for dessert afterward. And then I will want another giant piece for 2nd dessert, but I’ll try to resist this--most weeks. Here’s to moderation!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Week 6: The Weighting Game
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| The World War II Memorial in Washington, DC |
My weight didn’t go down, but it didn’t go up either; I think that’s the best I could have hoped for this week. My mom flew in on Tuesday, and I’ve been having too much fun shopping and tromping around DC with her to concern myself with such menial tasks as counting how many of my dad’s famous chocolate chip cookies I’ve eaten. But I can’t say I haven’t spent any time thinking about weight this week; I just haven’t been thinking about my own.
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| Nicole at 6 months (12 lbs 13 oz, 25.25") |
I cannot begin to describe how horrific it was to have to assist the nurses in holding Nicole down while she got a catheter. She wailed the entire time, stopping only once to look up at me with huge, tearful brown eyes as if to ask, “how could you let them do this to me, mommy?!?” When it was over and Nicole and I had both stopped crying, they sent us downstairs for the labwork.
I don’t think our hospital does many blood draws for babies Nicole’s age. They called a nurse in from another department that had a reputation for never missing a vein. She was very nice and didn’t miss, but Nicole’s veins were so little, and the blood just wouldn’t come out. She screamed with rage and indignation while they tried drawing the blood out with a syringe, but after two needle sticks on one arm and one on the other, the nurses finally called it and broke the bad news that we would have to go through the entire thing again the next day.
The following day was better, if only because Nicole had a two hour nap before we went and was well rested. The lab must have called for back up when they saw us coming because there were about three times more nurses buzzing around. The lab supervisor poked Nicole twice and moved the needles around under her skin, but again there was not enough blood for the test. Finally, the nurses let me hold Nicole while they stuck her finger and collected the blood as it dripped out. She cried at the initial poke, but then she just snuggled against me for the rest of the time, happy as a clam. I asked, with barely concealed irritation, why they hadn’t tried the finger prick to begin with. Apparently, most babies don’t bleed enough that way, but I think they could have switched methods before sticking her with a needle five times. We should get the lab results today. Best case scenario, everything comes back normal and we conclude that Nicole is just a petite little girl. Send healthy thoughts our way!
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| Mom watched the girls so we could go on our first date in 5 months! |
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Week 5: The good, the bad, and some things I've lied about
Total Weight Lost: 9 lbs
Okay, they aren’t so much lies as they are omissions. Just a few things I’ve, ahem, forgotten to mention. Like that despite my official farewell to Coke five weeks ago, I have managed to ingest about 60 ounces of the stuff. And a few diet root beers, quite a lot of no-sugar-added hot cocoa and more animal cookies than I’d like to admit. The truth is out: high fructose corn syrup, aspartame, and enriched white flour are still sneaking into my diet somehow. On the bright side, I am consuming much smaller quantities than I used to. Which brings me to “the good.”
So far, I have managed to stay within my WeightWatchers Points every week. Those of you who’ve tried WeightWatchers know that is no small feat. Though I have to admit, it’s easier when you have the extra motivation of all of your friends and family knowing you are trying to lose weight. Just the thought of you silently judging me (you’re all too sweet to say anything out loud) for remaining slightly chubby and highly caffeinated in August is enough to make me at least get a bowl instead of scooping Ben and Jerry’s directly from the container.
In other happy news, my exercise program is going swimmingly. Not only have I been walking 30 minutes a day five days a week, but I actually enjoy it. No, that is not a typo, but you may want to ask me again in a couple of weeks when I start running instead of walking.
And now for the bad news. As I said, I’ve been walking on the weekdays, and I usually do it during Nicole’s morning nap. It works out great, except that her morning nap used to be the time I allotted for cleaning. I told myself I could always use the girls’ much coveted quiet time for making my home immaculate, but it turns out that by the time one o’clock rolls around I’m more inclined to sit on the couch and read than get out the vacuum.
But a dirty house is not my only problem. You may recall my lengthy explanation in Week 1 about why it is impossible for me to hop in my car and grab a coke from the store at a moment’s notice. While it is still difficult to get the kids ready to go, we do make it out a couple of times a week for various playdates and child-friendly activities. These outings are not problematic in that it would still be a lot of work for a single dose of caffeine--I’d have to get the girls out of their carseats, into the store, through the checkout line, and back in the car again. Or would I? It turns out, many establishments have coke machines outside and mere steps from parking spaces. One could, theoretically of course, park in said spot, vend a drink, and be back in the car before the kids could ask, “Why are we here?” Luckily for me, I think I possess the will power to not take advantage of this opportunity (twice), but I can see how it could become an unfortunate compulsion for somebody with less upstanding eating and drinking habits than my own. ;)
Since I spent a good amount of time describing Allie’s fitness routine last week, I think it’s only fair I do the same for Nicole. Let me start by saying that if you believe everything the doctors and baby books tell you, our nearly-six-month-old should have spent a good portion of the last few months playing delightedly on her tummy. This so called ‘tummy-time’ results in the development of key muscle groups which enable baby to roll over, sit unassisted, and eventually move on to more exciting things like crawling. And I know there are people out there who have successfully implemented tummy time. I know because I have listened to them prattle on about little so-and-so just loving his/her tummy time so much that they started rolling over by 2 months, crawling by 4 months and doing cartwheels or some other such nonsense by 6. Outwardly, I nod politely and commend them on their parenting prowess, but inwardly, I wonder if they are lying to me. Because the truth is, Nicole has never played delightedly on her tummy. In fact, she hasn’t even laid resignedly on her tummy. The only thing Nicole has done on her tummy is wail ferociously and spit up occasionally until somebody (usually me) takes pity on her and picks her up. There was a hazy incident about a month and a half ago where she rolled from her tummy to her back twice in a row, but as there has been no action remotely close to rolling since then, I’m apt to think I imagined the whole thing.
So Nicole’s fitness regime has no rolling or crawling, but what she lacks in prone conditioning is more than made up for in her upright work. Namely, her walker. She got it for Christmas from Santa, and her feet didn’t even touch the ground. Now, three months older and a couple of inches taller, Nicole careens around the house Flinstone style, her little feet moving double time as she squeals with joy at her own mobility. She wanders from the kitchen to the computer room. She parks in front of the dishwasher and stares at her reflection for ages (though this may be because she hasn’t yet mastered the art of turning around). She chases Allie, giggling all the while. Occasionally, she runs over our feet. My guess is that Nicole will walk before she crawls, but only time will tell.
But I digress. My apologies to any readers that are not remotely interested in my children--perhaps I will start a separate blog in which I can detail their lives to my heart’s content. For now I will leave you with just seven words: Skinny Cow Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream. [I can’t pretend it’s a wholesome good-for-you-food, but it’s delicious and only 150 calories. Certain sacrifices must be made.]
Okay, they aren’t so much lies as they are omissions. Just a few things I’ve, ahem, forgotten to mention. Like that despite my official farewell to Coke five weeks ago, I have managed to ingest about 60 ounces of the stuff. And a few diet root beers, quite a lot of no-sugar-added hot cocoa and more animal cookies than I’d like to admit. The truth is out: high fructose corn syrup, aspartame, and enriched white flour are still sneaking into my diet somehow. On the bright side, I am consuming much smaller quantities than I used to. Which brings me to “the good.”
So far, I have managed to stay within my WeightWatchers Points every week. Those of you who’ve tried WeightWatchers know that is no small feat. Though I have to admit, it’s easier when you have the extra motivation of all of your friends and family knowing you are trying to lose weight. Just the thought of you silently judging me (you’re all too sweet to say anything out loud) for remaining slightly chubby and highly caffeinated in August is enough to make me at least get a bowl instead of scooping Ben and Jerry’s directly from the container.
In other happy news, my exercise program is going swimmingly. Not only have I been walking 30 minutes a day five days a week, but I actually enjoy it. No, that is not a typo, but you may want to ask me again in a couple of weeks when I start running instead of walking.
And now for the bad news. As I said, I’ve been walking on the weekdays, and I usually do it during Nicole’s morning nap. It works out great, except that her morning nap used to be the time I allotted for cleaning. I told myself I could always use the girls’ much coveted quiet time for making my home immaculate, but it turns out that by the time one o’clock rolls around I’m more inclined to sit on the couch and read than get out the vacuum.
But a dirty house is not my only problem. You may recall my lengthy explanation in Week 1 about why it is impossible for me to hop in my car and grab a coke from the store at a moment’s notice. While it is still difficult to get the kids ready to go, we do make it out a couple of times a week for various playdates and child-friendly activities. These outings are not problematic in that it would still be a lot of work for a single dose of caffeine--I’d have to get the girls out of their carseats, into the store, through the checkout line, and back in the car again. Or would I? It turns out, many establishments have coke machines outside and mere steps from parking spaces. One could, theoretically of course, park in said spot, vend a drink, and be back in the car before the kids could ask, “Why are we here?” Luckily for me, I think I possess the will power to not take advantage of this opportunity (twice), but I can see how it could become an unfortunate compulsion for somebody with less upstanding eating and drinking habits than my own. ;)
Since I spent a good amount of time describing Allie’s fitness routine last week, I think it’s only fair I do the same for Nicole. Let me start by saying that if you believe everything the doctors and baby books tell you, our nearly-six-month-old should have spent a good portion of the last few months playing delightedly on her tummy. This so called ‘tummy-time’ results in the development of key muscle groups which enable baby to roll over, sit unassisted, and eventually move on to more exciting things like crawling. And I know there are people out there who have successfully implemented tummy time. I know because I have listened to them prattle on about little so-and-so just loving his/her tummy time so much that they started rolling over by 2 months, crawling by 4 months and doing cartwheels or some other such nonsense by 6. Outwardly, I nod politely and commend them on their parenting prowess, but inwardly, I wonder if they are lying to me. Because the truth is, Nicole has never played delightedly on her tummy. In fact, she hasn’t even laid resignedly on her tummy. The only thing Nicole has done on her tummy is wail ferociously and spit up occasionally until somebody (usually me) takes pity on her and picks her up. There was a hazy incident about a month and a half ago where she rolled from her tummy to her back twice in a row, but as there has been no action remotely close to rolling since then, I’m apt to think I imagined the whole thing.
So Nicole’s fitness regime has no rolling or crawling, but what she lacks in prone conditioning is more than made up for in her upright work. Namely, her walker. She got it for Christmas from Santa, and her feet didn’t even touch the ground. Now, three months older and a couple of inches taller, Nicole careens around the house Flinstone style, her little feet moving double time as she squeals with joy at her own mobility. She wanders from the kitchen to the computer room. She parks in front of the dishwasher and stares at her reflection for ages (though this may be because she hasn’t yet mastered the art of turning around). She chases Allie, giggling all the while. Occasionally, she runs over our feet. My guess is that Nicole will walk before she crawls, but only time will tell.
But I digress. My apologies to any readers that are not remotely interested in my children--perhaps I will start a separate blog in which I can detail their lives to my heart’s content. For now I will leave you with just seven words: Skinny Cow Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream. [I can’t pretend it’s a wholesome good-for-you-food, but it’s delicious and only 150 calories. Certain sacrifices must be made.]
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Week 4: Doctors and swimming lessons
Total Weight Lost: 7 lbs
I finally made it to the doctor this week for my phsyical. I arrived at the office about twenty minutes late with Nicole in tow (Allie stayed at a friend’s house). The receptionist was quite understanding about my inability to get there on time; she just took my insurance card and asked me to have a seat. It was then that I had a chance to look around and note that I was younger than every patient in the waiting room by a good 40 or 50 years. Had I stumbled upon a geriatric physician by mistake and nobody told me? Did I look geriatric and that is why nobody seemed surprised to see me? I shrugged, figuring a doctor is a doctor, and smiled politely while the other patients cooed at my darling baby girl and asked how old HE was (I swear she was wearing pink!).
For being so late, they actually called me back pretty promptly. I was greeted by a very nice nurse named Rachel, who instantly won me over by telling me how cute my baby girl was. She asked me to step on the scale, which I did (after removing my shoes, coat, cell phone, keys, and hair tie--you can’t be too careful when it comes to scales). I was pleased the scale was unable to measure my height, which allowed me to lie, as usual, and claim to be 5’3’’.
Rachel then led me to an exam room where she took my pulse and my blood pressure. She perched herself on a stool with my chart and a pen and continued to take my health history. “Are you taking any medications?”
“No.”
“Do you have any medical conditions?”
“Nope.”
“Any surgeries we should know about?”
“No.”
“C-sections?”
“No.”
“Any hospitalizations?”
“None.”
“Hmmm...any allergies?” she asked hopefully. I shook my head. Rachel put her pen down and looked up at me. “Why exactly are you here?”
I explained that I was embarking on a new health and fitness routine, and I wanted to get an idea of how my health was right now so I could accurately assess my improvement. Rachel nodded and said the doctor would be in momentarily, which miraculously, he was.
To his credit, Dr. Gill never told me I needed to lose weight. I’m not sure if it was because I was already addressing the situation or if there is some unwritten rule that doctors are not to mention weight to a mother of a child less than two years of age in the event they will receive an unending tearful diatribe about how the baby never sleeps or stops crying unless it’s in the car going at least 30 mph and if it weren’t for coca cola and the drive-thru nobody would ever have any peace. It could also be because most of his patients are over 80, and having a little extra weight at that age in case of emergency is advised.
Anyway, Dr. Gill listened to my heart, my lungs, and a brief explanation of my plan. He thought the added exercise was a great idea and said that my initial rate of weight loss would eventually taper off to about 2 to 3 pounds a month. (This does not sound like much to me, but I’ll take what I can get.) Dr. Gill then handed me an order for lab work to check my cholesterol, triglycerides, glucose, etc., and said he’d see me in six months.
I had my lab work done on Thursday, and by Friday the office called and said that all of my numbers were perfect. Which is great news, because now that the ‘getting healthy’ part of my plan is taken care of I can just focus on fitting into my ‘skinny’ jeans. Kidding, kidding. I will continue to strive for better health. In particular, I’ll do some research on how to raise my HDL (healthy) cholesterol. Mine was at 40, and it should be at least 39, so there is definitely room for improvement there.
In other news, Allie had her first swim lesson on Monday. (I know this blog is supposed to be about my health and fitness efforts, but I figure my daughter’s fitness efforts are somewhat relevant and marginally more entertaining than my own.) Allie has been excited about swimming lessons for two months (ever since I took her to sign up and check out the pool). She could hardly contain herself when I told her quiet time was over and it was time to get ready for her first session.
She was dressed in her swimsuit in record time, and she had already thrown a towel, two pairs of underwear, a sock, and her nightgown into her swimming bag by the time I changed Nicole’s diaper. “Honka, honka!” yelled Allie. “Honka” is a made up word that I have heard used to mean everything from “yes” or “no” to “Mummy dear, I am all packed and ready to go to my first swimming lesson” which is what it seemed to mean in this case. I told her we could go as soon as I fed Nicole.
While Nicole ate, I could hear Allison running back and forth on our front porch screaming, “honka honka HONK-AAAAAHHHH” I sent happy, calming thoughts to the poor soul that would soon be instructing multiple over -eager three year olds in water safety before I handed Nicole to Chris and got Allie in her carseat.
When we arrived at the pool, we found Allie’s best friend, Evelyn, with her mom, Carrie, already waiting. Allie and Evelyn stomped their feet, giggled and hopped up and down while Carrie and I discussed the safeness of our beloved three year olds entering a pool without us. Before we knew it, the pool coordinator came out to introduce the swimming instructors. The pre-school class instructor was Nick, who looked to be about 14 years old. He smiled nervously and took a step back as five three year olds with no respect for personal space crowded around his knees. Carrie and I exchanged a look. Oh dear. They were going to eat him alive.
But Nick finally gained some control and the kids followed him through the door and into the pool like little ducklings. I felt so proud (and maybe just a little sad) as Allie fearlessly followed her new leader without even checking to see if I was watching. The kids walked down the steps into the 2’8’’ wading pool, and Nick had them all lined up in no time. By this point, we could not hear anything that was going on because the parents all wait behind a giant glass window during lessons (probably to keep crazies like me from yelling things like “are you sure you are watching my child properly?!? She can’t swim you know!!!”).
I watched as Allie blew bubbles, splashed, kicked her feet, splashed, back floated, splashed, and splashed some more. I couldn’t be sure from my vantage point, but I guessed that most of the splashing was not instructor sanctioned. At any rate, the kids all survived the 40 minute lesson and followed Nick back out to their parents. I wrapped Allie in her towel and asked her if she had fun. She shook her head sadly and said, “Well, he didn’t even let me jump in.” By the time I had her dressed and ready to leave she was much more enthusiastic. Her favorite part was floating on her back, and she can’t wait to go again. Success!
Before I sign off for the week, I want to mention a few links some of you have shared with me:
www.livestrong.com (You can create a free account and use it to track the calories from everything you eat)
www.ohsheglows.com (Vegan recipes--I haven’t tried to make any yet, but there are some much-better-for-you desserts that look delicious)
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/10/god-of-cake.html (A hilarious entry about a girl who loves cake--if you like cake or things that are funny, you will laugh out loud)
I finally made it to the doctor this week for my phsyical. I arrived at the office about twenty minutes late with Nicole in tow (Allie stayed at a friend’s house). The receptionist was quite understanding about my inability to get there on time; she just took my insurance card and asked me to have a seat. It was then that I had a chance to look around and note that I was younger than every patient in the waiting room by a good 40 or 50 years. Had I stumbled upon a geriatric physician by mistake and nobody told me? Did I look geriatric and that is why nobody seemed surprised to see me? I shrugged, figuring a doctor is a doctor, and smiled politely while the other patients cooed at my darling baby girl and asked how old HE was (I swear she was wearing pink!).
For being so late, they actually called me back pretty promptly. I was greeted by a very nice nurse named Rachel, who instantly won me over by telling me how cute my baby girl was. She asked me to step on the scale, which I did (after removing my shoes, coat, cell phone, keys, and hair tie--you can’t be too careful when it comes to scales). I was pleased the scale was unable to measure my height, which allowed me to lie, as usual, and claim to be 5’3’’.
Rachel then led me to an exam room where she took my pulse and my blood pressure. She perched herself on a stool with my chart and a pen and continued to take my health history. “Are you taking any medications?”
“No.”
“Do you have any medical conditions?”
“Nope.”
“Any surgeries we should know about?”
“No.”
“C-sections?”
“No.”
“Any hospitalizations?”
“None.”
“Hmmm...any allergies?” she asked hopefully. I shook my head. Rachel put her pen down and looked up at me. “Why exactly are you here?”
I explained that I was embarking on a new health and fitness routine, and I wanted to get an idea of how my health was right now so I could accurately assess my improvement. Rachel nodded and said the doctor would be in momentarily, which miraculously, he was.
To his credit, Dr. Gill never told me I needed to lose weight. I’m not sure if it was because I was already addressing the situation or if there is some unwritten rule that doctors are not to mention weight to a mother of a child less than two years of age in the event they will receive an unending tearful diatribe about how the baby never sleeps or stops crying unless it’s in the car going at least 30 mph and if it weren’t for coca cola and the drive-thru nobody would ever have any peace. It could also be because most of his patients are over 80, and having a little extra weight at that age in case of emergency is advised.
Anyway, Dr. Gill listened to my heart, my lungs, and a brief explanation of my plan. He thought the added exercise was a great idea and said that my initial rate of weight loss would eventually taper off to about 2 to 3 pounds a month. (This does not sound like much to me, but I’ll take what I can get.) Dr. Gill then handed me an order for lab work to check my cholesterol, triglycerides, glucose, etc., and said he’d see me in six months.
I had my lab work done on Thursday, and by Friday the office called and said that all of my numbers were perfect. Which is great news, because now that the ‘getting healthy’ part of my plan is taken care of I can just focus on fitting into my ‘skinny’ jeans. Kidding, kidding. I will continue to strive for better health. In particular, I’ll do some research on how to raise my HDL (healthy) cholesterol. Mine was at 40, and it should be at least 39, so there is definitely room for improvement there.
In other news, Allie had her first swim lesson on Monday. (I know this blog is supposed to be about my health and fitness efforts, but I figure my daughter’s fitness efforts are somewhat relevant and marginally more entertaining than my own.) Allie has been excited about swimming lessons for two months (ever since I took her to sign up and check out the pool). She could hardly contain herself when I told her quiet time was over and it was time to get ready for her first session.
She was dressed in her swimsuit in record time, and she had already thrown a towel, two pairs of underwear, a sock, and her nightgown into her swimming bag by the time I changed Nicole’s diaper. “Honka, honka!” yelled Allie. “Honka” is a made up word that I have heard used to mean everything from “yes” or “no” to “Mummy dear, I am all packed and ready to go to my first swimming lesson” which is what it seemed to mean in this case. I told her we could go as soon as I fed Nicole.
While Nicole ate, I could hear Allison running back and forth on our front porch screaming, “honka honka HONK-AAAAAHHHH” I sent happy, calming thoughts to the poor soul that would soon be instructing multiple over -eager three year olds in water safety before I handed Nicole to Chris and got Allie in her carseat.
When we arrived at the pool, we found Allie’s best friend, Evelyn, with her mom, Carrie, already waiting. Allie and Evelyn stomped their feet, giggled and hopped up and down while Carrie and I discussed the safeness of our beloved three year olds entering a pool without us. Before we knew it, the pool coordinator came out to introduce the swimming instructors. The pre-school class instructor was Nick, who looked to be about 14 years old. He smiled nervously and took a step back as five three year olds with no respect for personal space crowded around his knees. Carrie and I exchanged a look. Oh dear. They were going to eat him alive.
But Nick finally gained some control and the kids followed him through the door and into the pool like little ducklings. I felt so proud (and maybe just a little sad) as Allie fearlessly followed her new leader without even checking to see if I was watching. The kids walked down the steps into the 2’8’’ wading pool, and Nick had them all lined up in no time. By this point, we could not hear anything that was going on because the parents all wait behind a giant glass window during lessons (probably to keep crazies like me from yelling things like “are you sure you are watching my child properly?!? She can’t swim you know!!!”).
I watched as Allie blew bubbles, splashed, kicked her feet, splashed, back floated, splashed, and splashed some more. I couldn’t be sure from my vantage point, but I guessed that most of the splashing was not instructor sanctioned. At any rate, the kids all survived the 40 minute lesson and followed Nick back out to their parents. I wrapped Allie in her towel and asked her if she had fun. She shook her head sadly and said, “Well, he didn’t even let me jump in.” By the time I had her dressed and ready to leave she was much more enthusiastic. Her favorite part was floating on her back, and she can’t wait to go again. Success!
Before I sign off for the week, I want to mention a few links some of you have shared with me:
www.livestrong.com (You can create a free account and use it to track the calories from everything you eat)
www.ohsheglows.com (Vegan recipes--I haven’t tried to make any yet, but there are some much-better-for-you desserts that look delicious)
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/10/god-of-cake.html (A hilarious entry about a girl who loves cake--if you like cake or things that are funny, you will laugh out loud)
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Week 3: Goodbye, scale. Hello again, elastic pants.
Total Weight Lost: 7 lbs
I expected this week to be challenging for two reasons. One, we had company. And company is as good an excuse as any to go out to eat, have dessert every night, and buy all the snack foods I don’t normally allow in the house in the name of hospitality. I was pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to stay on plan even with guests. Of course, it helped that one of our guests was pregnant and following a very strict diet (which is weird for me, because my plan during pregnancy was more like “eat everything in site, and if you don’t see food, go buy more”). Anyway, between our guests’ healthy eating habits and Nicole’s rigorous nap schedule (which doesn’t allow much time for eating out), I did okay with avoiding the usual gain that comes with out of town visitors.
The second thing that I thought might be a challenge was our anniversary on Friday. Now that I’ve found my soul mate, I have little use for the evolutionary desire to attract a mate. I like to celebrate that fact by getting dressed up and going out for appetizers, dinner, drinks and dessert. We had the babysitter lined up and everything, but Nicole and I both woke up with colds Friday morning, and we had to cancel. Instead of my much anticipated four course smorgasbord, I ended up cooking a healthy meal at home. Not much of a celebration of five years of marriage in my mind, but it was certainly nicer on the scale the next morning.
Now I’m down seven pounds, and I keep thinking I should be seeing some changes in the way my clothes fit. I was puzzled momentarily until I looked down and noted my daily uniform of a tee shirt and elastic waist pants. Not just any elastic waist pants, but the ones I wore during the last months of my pregnancy. It turns out that your weight has to change A LOT before elastic pants will fit incorrectly. It’s one of their finer qualities. In order to more accurately check for improvement, I pulled out my tub of pre-pregnancy clothes and found my favorite pair of jeans. I’m not going to lie, putting them on probably counted as my daily cardio, but I did get them buttoned and zipped. They even looked decent if you didn’t look above the waist band where all the extra stomach that didn’t fit in the pants was hanging out. I only left them on for about ten seconds because A. They were wildly uncomfortable and B. I was afraid I was going to pop the button off of my favorite pair of jeans, but at least I have an idea of where I’m at now.
I’m happy with the way things are going, so my only added goal for this week is to give up my obsession with the scale. As some of you have pointed out, one should not weigh oneself everyday while trying to lose weight. I expect that means one REALLY shouldn’t weigh oneself several times a day and a couple of times at night after getting up with the baby. In an effort to decrease my weigh-ins to once a week, I’ve shoved the scale into the back of the cabinet under the sink in our bathroom. It’s not completely inaccessible, but I’m hoping I’ll at least be too lazy to drag it out multiple times a day. And that, my friends, is progress.
The second thing that I thought might be a challenge was our anniversary on Friday. Now that I’ve found my soul mate, I have little use for the evolutionary desire to attract a mate. I like to celebrate that fact by getting dressed up and going out for appetizers, dinner, drinks and dessert. We had the babysitter lined up and everything, but Nicole and I both woke up with colds Friday morning, and we had to cancel. Instead of my much anticipated four course smorgasbord, I ended up cooking a healthy meal at home. Not much of a celebration of five years of marriage in my mind, but it was certainly nicer on the scale the next morning.
Now I’m down seven pounds, and I keep thinking I should be seeing some changes in the way my clothes fit. I was puzzled momentarily until I looked down and noted my daily uniform of a tee shirt and elastic waist pants. Not just any elastic waist pants, but the ones I wore during the last months of my pregnancy. It turns out that your weight has to change A LOT before elastic pants will fit incorrectly. It’s one of their finer qualities. In order to more accurately check for improvement, I pulled out my tub of pre-pregnancy clothes and found my favorite pair of jeans. I’m not going to lie, putting them on probably counted as my daily cardio, but I did get them buttoned and zipped. They even looked decent if you didn’t look above the waist band where all the extra stomach that didn’t fit in the pants was hanging out. I only left them on for about ten seconds because A. They were wildly uncomfortable and B. I was afraid I was going to pop the button off of my favorite pair of jeans, but at least I have an idea of where I’m at now.
I’m happy with the way things are going, so my only added goal for this week is to give up my obsession with the scale. As some of you have pointed out, one should not weigh oneself everyday while trying to lose weight. I expect that means one REALLY shouldn’t weigh oneself several times a day and a couple of times at night after getting up with the baby. In an effort to decrease my weigh-ins to once a week, I’ve shoved the scale into the back of the cabinet under the sink in our bathroom. It’s not completely inaccessible, but I’m hoping I’ll at least be too lazy to drag it out multiple times a day. And that, my friends, is progress.
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