Resentfully, I looked at my son's birthday cake and ice cream and rebelliously shoved some into my mouth.
It was stupid of me to even look at them with longing. Now that I am getting older, I've become stubborn and denial has become my friend. When I was 20 years old, I weighed 120 pounds and wore a size 3. I also ate like a starving fiend and huffed and puffed as if I were dying during any sort of exercise routine.
It just isn't fair.
Five babies later, I still eat like a starving fiend although I have gained considerable ground in the exercise department and can do 30 minutes of Tae-Bo with breath left to spare. Of course, that was before baby #5.
Lately, I have been uncomfortably aware of the flab hanging over my jeans. As I cast aside yet another pair of pants from my pre-baby #5 wardrobe, cynically I realize why there are so many bulimic women out there.
Sparing some time to work-out is not happening in my mad-cap adventure of a life either. Between homeschooling three boys, keeping up with a three-year-old, and a new baby demanding my attention, there's no time to jump up and down for 30 minutes when my mind is on the laundry, housework, and mealtimes.
There is a special dress I have collecting dust in the back of my closet. I wore this dress for my wedding rehearsal and dinner almost 13 years ago. It is a size 3 and I have forever after hoped to wear it again. As my body continues to balloon outward, I realize how far-fetched my imagination really is.
I have decided not to make the usual asinine New Year's resolution of losing weight this year. I have to lose weight every year and it just seems common place for me now. As I see yet another commercial about a "fabulous" new way of exercising or an "awesome" new diet plan, I in turn either want to throw something at the TV or lament my elephant thighs.
I know what I have to do to lose the weight that seems to have turned into concrete. I must diet and exercise. The hard part is wrapping my brain around all the reasons why I must do this and then doing it.
Maybe I should get a picture of my recent self and tape it to the refrigerator door. That would either give me motivation to curb my appetite or just make me weep. Either way, that special dress will have to collect a little more dust for a while.
It was stupid of me to even look at them with longing. Now that I am getting older, I've become stubborn and denial has become my friend. When I was 20 years old, I weighed 120 pounds and wore a size 3. I also ate like a starving fiend and huffed and puffed as if I were dying during any sort of exercise routine.
It just isn't fair.
Five babies later, I still eat like a starving fiend although I have gained considerable ground in the exercise department and can do 30 minutes of Tae-Bo with breath left to spare. Of course, that was before baby #5.
Lately, I have been uncomfortably aware of the flab hanging over my jeans. As I cast aside yet another pair of pants from my pre-baby #5 wardrobe, cynically I realize why there are so many bulimic women out there.
Sparing some time to work-out is not happening in my mad-cap adventure of a life either. Between homeschooling three boys, keeping up with a three-year-old, and a new baby demanding my attention, there's no time to jump up and down for 30 minutes when my mind is on the laundry, housework, and mealtimes.
There is a special dress I have collecting dust in the back of my closet. I wore this dress for my wedding rehearsal and dinner almost 13 years ago. It is a size 3 and I have forever after hoped to wear it again. As my body continues to balloon outward, I realize how far-fetched my imagination really is.
I have decided not to make the usual asinine New Year's resolution of losing weight this year. I have to lose weight every year and it just seems common place for me now. As I see yet another commercial about a "fabulous" new way of exercising or an "awesome" new diet plan, I in turn either want to throw something at the TV or lament my elephant thighs.
I know what I have to do to lose the weight that seems to have turned into concrete. I must diet and exercise. The hard part is wrapping my brain around all the reasons why I must do this and then doing it.
Maybe I should get a picture of my recent self and tape it to the refrigerator door. That would either give me motivation to curb my appetite or just make me weep. Either way, that special dress will have to collect a little more dust for a while.
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