I recently saw a picture of myself from high school, and in the same pile of pictures was a current picture.
Oh. My. Gawd.
Granted, I look the same, sort of. I still look like me. When I was voting a person I recognized from high school said Hello to me, though I had absolutely no clue who in the world they were. I’ve ran into a few people at Schnuck’s and Wal-Mart. I realized, everyone I run into looks exactly the same as before. But I don’t, really. Maybe it’s because I’ve had three kids and they’ve continued to party hard. I don’t know… but I don’t like it. I have these fat arms, thunder thighs, cow-like calfs (calves?) and a big belly. It’s funny, because I’m so much more comfortable with myself than I was even a few months ago. And I thought I’d been losing weight, since my post-pregnancy jeans fail to fit me properly anymore.
So the last time I weighed myself I was about 182. I was happy with that, since it wasn’t a big fat 200 anymore. I weighed myself at my mother’s house, and the scale said 201. I’m disappointed, and confused. How can I weigh more if my once-tight pants are literally falling off me? It makes no sense.
So, in addition to my daily chore list, I’m adding in an hour a day of exercise. I know that if I add it in to do all at once that I will never get around to doing it, so I’m going to have four 15-minute exercise episodes. I’m hoping this will boost my metabolism.
I’m also investing in a pitcher and going to only drink infused water (aka Spa Water, aka Detox Water). I’m going to start picking away at my Pinterest Fitness board, and see what I enjoy best, at home.
Exercising at home is incredibly hard for me to do. I always end up just tending to the kids. I really need to get back into the YMCA. They have childcare, and I know that if I start getting to the Y, I’ll start losing weight. It’s just how I work. I hold myself accountable for it when I go to the gym. I also work harder, because I want to look better and better in my workout clothes.
That’s it. I’m forcing my husband to give me my YMCA membership back. If he can spend money on beer, cigarettes, and chew, then I can spend $60 a month on a YMCA membership.
Exercising truly helps me control my depression and anxiety in a healthy, positive way. I have an entire cupboard filled with BuSpar and Prozac, bottles and bottles of the stuff. I always get my refills, and I never, ever take it. I know I should, but I don’t. Don’t tell my doctor.
Does Prozac expire? I wonder.
Baby Girl is rolling around on the rug and puking everywhere. UGH. She just smiles and pukes and rolls around some more, cackling at me. Oh, to be a baby again.
When I was a little girl, about 5 or 6 at the oldest, I got mad at my mom. When she woke up in the morning, she found a picture I drew taped to my door. It said: “Mom: Before Kids” and “Mom: After Kids.” Each picture was the same, except “Before” Mom’s boobs were “<<” and “After” Mom’s boobs were “CC” and saggy. lol.
I need to start eating better. It’s so hard to do with a junk-food / candy-addict living in my house. I guess I just have to muster-up the willpower, eh?
I need to weigh myself on my scale here at home. Maybe it’s more accurate than my mother’s.
Interesting, it says 190.6. I’m going to start believing my own scale and say “to hell” to my mother’s. Good thing I don’t live there.
My daughter is getting so big. 17.2 lbs. Wow. She’s so tall though. She barely fits into the 6-9 month clothes she has, and she’s wearing 12 months pants, which quite frankly are a bit too short for her. Here she comes, crawling like a madwoman across the living room at me. She’s so cute.
I need to get into shape for myself, my husband, and most of all – my kids. I hate feeling tired again, and it will only get worse the colder it gets outside.
I’m getting my hair done on Tuesday. I can’t wait. I’m going blonde again, but I haven’t told my husband. Haha.
My daughter’s diaper just fell off her butt. What butt? She has no butt. At least she’s finally got a little bit of visible hair now. I fear she’s been cursed with the family’s ‘invisible eyebrows.’
I really need to find a sitter on Tuesday. I’m meeting Husband’s kids and his ex-wife, and I want to look better than the mess I look like now.