remember how i told you that i wore that summer breezy dress to the
braves game? and how i said it would be important later. well now is later.
i wore the dress, it was so the right choice. no crack-attack worries, no heavy denim suffocating every sweaty pore, a nice wide entryway for all things cool and windy. it was plenty long (ample knee length) so i could do various mom-of-toddler maneuvers such as squatting, chasing, bending and threatening without having to worry about scalding everyones eyeballs.
like i said, we were in awesome field level seats, so from the main walkway thoroughfare, to get to our section, you walked down stairs.
well when the game was over (and we stayed until the last out rather than trying to beat the traffic so that judah could run the bases after the game...except we found out that that is only for kids 4 and up: bummer) we had to walk up to exit. we had left our stroller at the top of the stairs in the handicapped seating area on the main walkway where the lower and upper levels feed into. so we sort of pulled out of the packed exiting line and i went about buckling judah in.
it was high stress. we were sticking out and partially blocking traffic and we wanted to leave ASAP too. the buckles wouldn't work and judah was a going all free willy on me thrashing against his bonds. so after like 2 straight minutes of trying to wrangle him down in his seat, i needed jesse to help me. while we are both intent on wrestling with the stroller and the toddler, this cute lady arrives at the top of the stairs and pulls me aside to whisper something to me. i am braced for getting ripped on for holding everyone up and telling myself to not be too sassy back. in fact, i actually should have been enjoying my last few moments of ignorant bliss.
"i just wanted to tell you that you can see up your dress."
i am immediately so relieved that she saved me from any embarrassment, thanking the LAWD it was just another chick who saw. until i remember i had been standing like that--bent over at the waist, with my butt pointing out toward the field over the lower seating area in a dress--the entire time i was buckling judah in, not just for that one moment she spotted me.
and i am telling myself, okay, it's not that bad, everyone had probably already left, and i go to take a surreptitious look over my shoulder at my audience and oh holy mother of bejosephus of arrhythmia, there are a good 10,000 faces down there all staring UP at the exact vector that would lead their eyes straight up into to my flux capictor.
and cue death wave of total self-hatred.
my vagina-having female mind that is so quick with the
self-hate-talk kicks into high gear imagining all the different comments people must have been saying at the sight of....such.
skinny college girls (volleyball players in my head): "oh my god, look at that. she should either do some shuttle runs or NOT bend over. ever."
teenage boys: "dude, DISGUSTING! i will never eat/use my eyes/masturbate again!!!!"
a mom: "well she does have two little kids, but geez, so did i and i never had that situation going on that bad after i gave birth."
the entire 40-man roster of the atlanta braves: "quick let's hit the showers so we can look at each other's junk rather than watch this train wreck for another second."
everyone: "we hate her. she is awful and revolting."
healthy, no?
leaving the stadium, i am on 100% auto-pilot mode and don't remember much of the walk to the car except for thinking, "every step i take away from there lessens the number of people within view who have seen my pale, postpartum, sweat-wedgied, bent-over booty. must keep walking."
as soon as we got home i did what anyone would do and immediately went and stood up on the side of my bathtub and bent over so i could see in the mirror the exact image that sections 119-121 had had scorched into the cerebellums. oh. man.
april 16th, 2011. dear diary, today is the day that i decided i am tired of being out of shape and care enough to do something about it. make a note. this feeling: it sucks.
will i ever get to the point where bending over in nothing but some stretchy bottoms in front of strangers is fun for me? well, it did essentially pay for my college education, but volleyball career aside-- probably not. BUT (ha) rather than that event triggering a cataclysm of self-loathing and disgust, maybe if i was more fit it would just be funny on account of how pale i am or because i have cartoon animals on my underoos rather than an impeachment of my very soul.
so here it is. accountability. putting it out there so i can't puss out or claim i wasn't really trying: i am hereby trying to lose all my babIES weight. the weight i gained with judah, lost most of, then gained back plus some with layla plus a few pounds GAINED since the cord was cut.
i have told jesse i hated feeling yucky and ugly during pregnancy. i want to be a hot pregnant chick for once. so we aren't allowed to have any more kids until i am so happy with how i look that jesse is telling me to tone it down on the skimpy outfits because i am a mom and shoudln't dress that way. that's how in shape i want to be. that's the litmus test.
it is possible that i just effectively announced that we are never having more kids.
if you remember with judah i was not like most women who lose a lot of weight while breastfeeding. you can pretty much weigh the baby, placenta and amniotic fluid and that's all i lost from my first pregnancy until my milk completely went away. then about 20 pounds came off relatively easy.
i am not counting on that for this time around, but so far it has been the exact same story. sadly, this story is the same as far as my milk disappointingly leaving the building at 5 months (it was at 4 with judah, so at least there's that). that said (and more will be said about that soon), now would be the time that the weight came off easily if this was like before.
but i am not counting on that, because: A-i am older and bigger than i was after judah, B-all pregnancies and post-partumsies are different and C-i don't just want to be fat-less, i want to be fit-full (not fitful, though i am that by nature already). i want muscles back. i want an athletic and active lifestyle. i want to kick some ass at barbecue ball and make my kids eat my dust at fun-runs. i want more shadows cast by muscular definition than by cellulite dimplage. these are my demands.
i dont do well with lots of change. i always try to fix my diet and start exercising and cleaning my house daily and more consistently reading my bible all at once and i can never keep up with it all. so it all spins out of control and then gets discarded (not the actual bible, just my discipline on reading) and i just end up feeling like a failure and having this guilt/shame-blot in my subconsciousness that makes summoning up the courage to try again later really hard.
knowing me, i know the crazy diet thing i will never be able to go 100% on. i love food and i think counting every calorie makes me insane and is not sustainable for me beyond like 8 days. i believe in indulgences. if truffle ball binges at christmas and chick-fil-a at least thrice monthly is wrong, i dont want to be right. so i am not counting anything, i am just making a small and intentional life change overall to try to get more veggies and brown stuff in there whenever i can and maybe eat less overall. it's not a mystery how you should eat to be healthier.
so that leaves exercise. unless aetna covers liposuction and glute-etching now? no...? ok exercise then. it blew me away this week when i realized that from ages toddler to 21 i used to exercise least 20 hours a week, and in the past 15 months i have exercised: ZERO TIMES. seriously. i took the entire pregnancy off and havent done jack since having layla either. no freaking wonder.
i've often said i would worry about getting back in shape when i was done having all my kids; just get them all out of my system and then reboot. but you know i dont think i can live with myself like this waiting for that day. who even knows when we will be totally done having kids and, damn, shouldn't i get to feel good about how i look and feel sometime before then? yes. i should.
in the past this whole braves booty thing would have had me signing up for a gym membership and going all out for maybe 3 weeks and then tapered into slacking until i was finally back to doing nothing again with one more pearl on my guilt/failure strand of goodness. i already have a cycle back in my life that is pretty vicious (thank you, endometrial lining and uterus, yall the best!) so i am trying to not overdo the exercise on the front end, but still wanting to set clear manageable goals that are sustainable forever. i found a really easy non-threatening starter-routine that i think will work for me. it's 3 times a week and i started it on monday and have done 2 workouts so far. details to come.
i have a numerical weight loss goal (dozens of lbs!), some general size/body measurements goals (jowl-free by swimsuit season!) and a few fitness level goals (don't die while chasing down judah in target!) that i am thinking of setting in stone as the prizes upon which to fix my eyes.
i am also thinking of upping the accountability/traceability of this process by doing a simple weekly post about my numbers/pace/mindframe/progress. i am worried this may drive most of you away in horror/boredom, but am balancing that fear with the desire to never have jillian michaels up in my grill asking me about my daddy issues. "there aren't any, jillian! i just seriously love meat and cheese and seriously hate sweating and exerting effort! why can't you understand my story is really that simple!!"
here we go.