37 pounds gone! Dropped, erased, obliterated, bid adieu, shed, defeated.
For once the challenge is being defeated, and not me. I LOVE that.
I had a bad bweek*, to be honest. But even as it was, I still lost 2 lbs. I didn't stay the same. I didn't gain. I'm another 2 lbs lighter than I was at the last weigh in. The scale is still going down! Clothes are getting far too big! I came across another pair of jeans that now fit, as well as some capris I've been trying to get into for months. I finally can!!
Having said that, I'm still going to work much harder this block. I really fell off the bandwagon a few times last bweek and I wan't to rock it this time. The only thing that can stop me is me! I'm the meal planner, the grocery buyer and the chef. Yesterday was payday so I need to go do a good shop and get the fridge full of poonerific food again. I'm nothing if not lazy, so if green beans and cucumbers are there, green beans and cucumbers are what I'll eat!
*Bweek: New word! A period of 2 weeks.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Holy Crap! It's working!!
Who knew??
It's been 5 weeks, and I've lost...
wait for it....
OVER 25 POUNDS!!!
I know, right? Get down with my bad self!
I'm just as shocked as anyone. It's SO EASY, too. I've learned the diet backwards and forwards, so now I can break the rules to make it something I can actually live with. For example, there's a blanket 'no dairy' rule. Well, eff that. Low fat cheese is my best friend, and allow myself 1-3oz a day. So plbbbt to them. I'm also not nearly as anal about my sodium consumption. Most people on this diet have high blood pressure and major edema and other things I'm lucky enought not to have. So while I've still switched to No Salt and use Mrs Dash for most seasoning, I'm not treating it like it's anthrax.
This 25lb loss pushed my total loss to 50lbs, which means alllll my baby weight is gone. Thank goodness!! I feel SO MUCH BETTER! For the first time in over a year, I can walk around with my head held high. My body isn't the same as it was before my belived child ruined me from the inside, but I can now look at my droopy lower tummy as a mommy war wound instead of the bane of my existance. Having said that, it's going on the chopping block the moment I give birth to my last child. I've officially started the post-baby plastic surgery fund. In the oh-so sensitive words of my husband 'Well, we knew when you got pregnant this body was going to be a write-off". Thanks, honey. Love you too.
So with all that back-patting aside, I still have tons of weight to lose. But I feel like I've been given the secret formula, and I just have to follow it. While I would trule perform shameful acts for a baguette or some garlic bread, I'm able to keep my eyes on the goal. Every two weeks, on the day of my weigh in, I let myself have a 'Treat Day'. (Thank you Julie for introducing me to the term! It sounds so much better than Cheat Day!!) I basically starve myself before my noon appointment, but the rest of the day is free. The amazing thing is, my stomach has shrunk so much I can't even ruin my diet in only one day! Half of a personal pizza and I'm STUFFED! Hurrah!
So there you go. I'm off to have a green salad with grilled chicken.
It's been 5 weeks, and I've lost...
wait for it....
OVER 25 POUNDS!!!
I know, right? Get down with my bad self!
I'm just as shocked as anyone. It's SO EASY, too. I've learned the diet backwards and forwards, so now I can break the rules to make it something I can actually live with. For example, there's a blanket 'no dairy' rule. Well, eff that. Low fat cheese is my best friend, and allow myself 1-3oz a day. So plbbbt to them. I'm also not nearly as anal about my sodium consumption. Most people on this diet have high blood pressure and major edema and other things I'm lucky enought not to have. So while I've still switched to No Salt and use Mrs Dash for most seasoning, I'm not treating it like it's anthrax.
This 25lb loss pushed my total loss to 50lbs, which means alllll my baby weight is gone. Thank goodness!! I feel SO MUCH BETTER! For the first time in over a year, I can walk around with my head held high. My body isn't the same as it was before my belived child ruined me from the inside, but I can now look at my droopy lower tummy as a mommy war wound instead of the bane of my existance. Having said that, it's going on the chopping block the moment I give birth to my last child. I've officially started the post-baby plastic surgery fund. In the oh-so sensitive words of my husband 'Well, we knew when you got pregnant this body was going to be a write-off". Thanks, honey. Love you too.
So with all that back-patting aside, I still have tons of weight to lose. But I feel like I've been given the secret formula, and I just have to follow it. While I would trule perform shameful acts for a baguette or some garlic bread, I'm able to keep my eyes on the goal. Every two weeks, on the day of my weigh in, I let myself have a 'Treat Day'. (Thank you Julie for introducing me to the term! It sounds so much better than Cheat Day!!) I basically starve myself before my noon appointment, but the rest of the day is free. The amazing thing is, my stomach has shrunk so much I can't even ruin my diet in only one day! Half of a personal pizza and I'm STUFFED! Hurrah!
So there you go. I'm off to have a green salad with grilled chicken.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Be! Excited! Be! Be! Excited!
You know what sucks? Eggs.
I hate eggs. I hate eggs in nearly every one of their mucousy little manifestations. As far as I'm concerned they're chicken feti and it should be taboo to consume them. Any yet there I was this morning, scrambling up a couple of those bad boys for breakfast. I think I managed 4 bites before passing them over to my kid.
I, Klassymomma, have started an intense, doctor supervised weight loss program, and have to learn to like eggs. As of today I am on a high protein, low fat, looooow carb diet. It sucks. I hate it. I want an apple. My kingdom for an apple!
Normally I hate the idea of radical diets. I personally feel that your weight loss program needs to be something you can stick with forever, or else the pounds are going to come back and they're bringing their friends. They're bitches like that. But after years of doing it on my own, going down 50 and up 80, down 40 and up 60, down 70 and up 100 I've decided that it's time for something drastic. It's no longer just about looking better or fitting into cute clothes (though I CAN'T WAIT to get my butt into some nice jeans!), but about being able to run around with my kid. He EXHAUSTS me! I was so impressed when he took his first step at 7 months. Now I look back and see it as the last calm day of my life. I love him so much, and he deserves a mom who lives life to the fullest instead of being trapped in a fat suit.
So for you, Dawson, I am changing my life. You damnwell better appreciate it when you're older!
It's 2pm on day 1 and I'm thus far successful. Scrambled eggs for breakfast, a salad with cucumber and bean sprouts for a snack (what can I say, I haven't really shopped for this adventure yet) and another salad with grilled chicken for lunch. Crystal Light lemonade with breakfast (my feeble attempt to replicate my beloved, verboten orange juice) and coke zero with lunch. I'm resigned to the fact I'll be living on chicken and asparatame for the next 6 months.
Yes, 6 months. I'm signing up for this for 6 months. It seems like a long time, but really, in the grand scheme of things it's not. I'm 27, that's 54 6-month periods I've lived through. I can spend one devoting my efforts to serious weight loss. In those 6 months, I'd love to lose at least 40lbs. I don't think that's impossible, or irrational. I know that I, and only I, have complete control over how successful this is.
I don't plan on staying on this diet long term. Like I said, I hate fad diets. Eventually I want to join weight watchers, which I'll proabably be sticking with for the rest of my life. Someone once told me that losing weight is easy, it's keeping it off that's hard. I believe it. But I can do it. I need to do it. I will do it.
I will do it.
I am doing it.
I really want an apple.
I hate eggs. I hate eggs in nearly every one of their mucousy little manifestations. As far as I'm concerned they're chicken feti and it should be taboo to consume them. Any yet there I was this morning, scrambling up a couple of those bad boys for breakfast. I think I managed 4 bites before passing them over to my kid.
I, Klassymomma, have started an intense, doctor supervised weight loss program, and have to learn to like eggs. As of today I am on a high protein, low fat, looooow carb diet. It sucks. I hate it. I want an apple. My kingdom for an apple!
Normally I hate the idea of radical diets. I personally feel that your weight loss program needs to be something you can stick with forever, or else the pounds are going to come back and they're bringing their friends. They're bitches like that. But after years of doing it on my own, going down 50 and up 80, down 40 and up 60, down 70 and up 100 I've decided that it's time for something drastic. It's no longer just about looking better or fitting into cute clothes (though I CAN'T WAIT to get my butt into some nice jeans!), but about being able to run around with my kid. He EXHAUSTS me! I was so impressed when he took his first step at 7 months. Now I look back and see it as the last calm day of my life. I love him so much, and he deserves a mom who lives life to the fullest instead of being trapped in a fat suit.
So for you, Dawson, I am changing my life. You damnwell better appreciate it when you're older!
It's 2pm on day 1 and I'm thus far successful. Scrambled eggs for breakfast, a salad with cucumber and bean sprouts for a snack (what can I say, I haven't really shopped for this adventure yet) and another salad with grilled chicken for lunch. Crystal Light lemonade with breakfast (my feeble attempt to replicate my beloved, verboten orange juice) and coke zero with lunch. I'm resigned to the fact I'll be living on chicken and asparatame for the next 6 months.
Yes, 6 months. I'm signing up for this for 6 months. It seems like a long time, but really, in the grand scheme of things it's not. I'm 27, that's 54 6-month periods I've lived through. I can spend one devoting my efforts to serious weight loss. In those 6 months, I'd love to lose at least 40lbs. I don't think that's impossible, or irrational. I know that I, and only I, have complete control over how successful this is.
I don't plan on staying on this diet long term. Like I said, I hate fad diets. Eventually I want to join weight watchers, which I'll proabably be sticking with for the rest of my life. Someone once told me that losing weight is easy, it's keeping it off that's hard. I believe it. But I can do it. I need to do it. I will do it.
I will do it.
I am doing it.
I really want an apple.
Monday, March 22, 2010
A love letter....
...to Anthony Wiggle.
Oh Anthony, the wiggle in blue. The leader. The Grand Poobah. The Leonardo to the rest of the Ninja Turtles. In your tight black jeans, rocking out on your red guitar. You trigger my gaydar, but in that 'gay or foreign' way, so I can still swoon. And I will. *Swoon!*
I love you, Anthony Wiggle. I'll Wiggle and Learn with you any day of the week.
Oh Anthony, the wiggle in blue. The leader. The Grand Poobah. The Leonardo to the rest of the Ninja Turtles. In your tight black jeans, rocking out on your red guitar. You trigger my gaydar, but in that 'gay or foreign' way, so I can still swoon. And I will. *Swoon!*
I love you, Anthony Wiggle. I'll Wiggle and Learn with you any day of the week.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Shame? What's that?
There's no dignity in mommyhood.
From your first prenatal ultrasound (done with what looks suspiciously like a dildo covered in a horse condom), to the Strep B test (wait... you want to wipe my BUMHOLE with that giant Q-tip?? WTF???) your sense of modesty is slowly but surely chipped away. Then one day you find yourself comparing your chapped nipples with the woman who came to set up Little Darling's RESP, without a stich of embarassment.
Alternatively, there are those mommy moments where we sacrifice our dignity specifically for our child's welfare. Like jumping into a pool with no regard for hair and makeup or bolting out of a change room in your bra because Little Darling is no longer in your line of vision. Today it was my turn.
I was going to the washroom (I hate how many of my stories start that way), with the door open so Dawson didn't lose his mind. He didn't actually want to be with me, as he was playing in his room, he just wanted the option. (Isn't the needy phase fun??) Suddenly he started screaming. Full on, blood curdling screaming.
I chucked my Today's Parent into the bathtub and bolted, mid tinkle, down the hall with my pants around my ankles. Dawson had fallen against his door, trapping his little fingers in the jam. Because he was leaning on the door, he couldn't get his fingers out. Because his hand was trapped, he couldn't get himself back on his feet. Three itty bitty fingertips were poking through, shattering my heart.
Oh, and a trail of pee ran behind me. Klassy.
It took me a few seconds to figure out how to open the door without knocking him down, but eventually I was able to scoop him up and rock him back and forth, pee running down my legs and pooling on the floor. (Upside: I have a housekeeper now! Downside: she's not due for 4 days. Ew.)
At this point my husband walked through the door.(Ha! Welcome home, Honey!) He immediately offered to take the baby, but Dawson was still whimpering and I didn't want to pass him off yet. So for about 2 more minutes I stood in the hall, pantless and soggy, humming and rocking and kissing his fingertips. Another crisis averted.
Motherhood is beautiful, rewarding, unlinke anything else. Just check your dignity at the delivery room door.
From your first prenatal ultrasound (done with what looks suspiciously like a dildo covered in a horse condom), to the Strep B test (wait... you want to wipe my BUMHOLE with that giant Q-tip?? WTF???) your sense of modesty is slowly but surely chipped away. Then one day you find yourself comparing your chapped nipples with the woman who came to set up Little Darling's RESP, without a stich of embarassment.
Alternatively, there are those mommy moments where we sacrifice our dignity specifically for our child's welfare. Like jumping into a pool with no regard for hair and makeup or bolting out of a change room in your bra because Little Darling is no longer in your line of vision. Today it was my turn.
I was going to the washroom (I hate how many of my stories start that way), with the door open so Dawson didn't lose his mind. He didn't actually want to be with me, as he was playing in his room, he just wanted the option. (Isn't the needy phase fun??) Suddenly he started screaming. Full on, blood curdling screaming.
I chucked my Today's Parent into the bathtub and bolted, mid tinkle, down the hall with my pants around my ankles. Dawson had fallen against his door, trapping his little fingers in the jam. Because he was leaning on the door, he couldn't get his fingers out. Because his hand was trapped, he couldn't get himself back on his feet. Three itty bitty fingertips were poking through, shattering my heart.
Oh, and a trail of pee ran behind me. Klassy.
It took me a few seconds to figure out how to open the door without knocking him down, but eventually I was able to scoop him up and rock him back and forth, pee running down my legs and pooling on the floor. (Upside: I have a housekeeper now! Downside: she's not due for 4 days. Ew.)
At this point my husband walked through the door.(Ha! Welcome home, Honey!) He immediately offered to take the baby, but Dawson was still whimpering and I didn't want to pass him off yet. So for about 2 more minutes I stood in the hall, pantless and soggy, humming and rocking and kissing his fingertips. Another crisis averted.
Motherhood is beautiful, rewarding, unlinke anything else. Just check your dignity at the delivery room door.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The secret lives of babies
I found something very strange when I changed Dawson this morning. A feather. A little, broken, yellow feather. It popped out of his PJs as I undressed him. Let me make it clear that I was the one who bathed him last night, who got him into his PJs, and the only one who interacted with him all night. Big Bird was not in the picture at all.
What the hell?
These are new PJs that Dawson had only worn once before (the night before last, in fact) and I had washed them before that. They were no feathers in the wash, and it wasn't there when he wore them the night before. But suddenly this morning, there it was, in all it's feathery glory.
I can only come up with one explanation: Dawson is moonlighting as a Vegas-style show girl.
I should have known, he's been dancing a lot more lately. Leave the music channel on the TV and he'll be grooving with the best of them. Beyonce and the Black Eyed Peas are his current favourites, but he'll rock out at any opportunity, even to Michael Buble. You haven't lived until you've seen the baby bop done to the dulcet tones of everyone's favourite Canadian crooner.
He has also been walking more than crawling these days, which is completely understandable what with the increased agility and stamina dancing gives. It all adds up. I blame myself. I sing show tunes to him all the time. How could he not yearn for the bright lights of the stage?
What I want to know is where are the tips?? If he's bringing in an income, dude can help pay for his formula. If I find a stash of wrinkled fives in his diaper bag you can bet The House is taking 20% off the top.
What the hell?
These are new PJs that Dawson had only worn once before (the night before last, in fact) and I had washed them before that. They were no feathers in the wash, and it wasn't there when he wore them the night before. But suddenly this morning, there it was, in all it's feathery glory.
I can only come up with one explanation: Dawson is moonlighting as a Vegas-style show girl.
I should have known, he's been dancing a lot more lately. Leave the music channel on the TV and he'll be grooving with the best of them. Beyonce and the Black Eyed Peas are his current favourites, but he'll rock out at any opportunity, even to Michael Buble. You haven't lived until you've seen the baby bop done to the dulcet tones of everyone's favourite Canadian crooner.
He has also been walking more than crawling these days, which is completely understandable what with the increased agility and stamina dancing gives. It all adds up. I blame myself. I sing show tunes to him all the time. How could he not yearn for the bright lights of the stage?
What I want to know is where are the tips?? If he's bringing in an income, dude can help pay for his formula. If I find a stash of wrinkled fives in his diaper bag you can bet The House is taking 20% off the top.
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