The Mommy Diet

You moms out there may be familiar with this phenomenon….  You have a kid, kid progresses to “real food” age, and then “picky eater of real food” age — oh, and “able to request my own fudge cookies, thank you very much” age — all of which make food a central part of your day, because you’re the one who has to go get the fudge cookies off the top shelf for the kid.  I am finding that all of these reminders to eat are making my pants straight up not fit.  I’ve tried blaming it on pregnancy, metabolism, Mirena, yanking-out-of Mirena, menopause?, and anything else I could think of, but the fact is, I’m still 10lbs heavier than I need to be to fit into my pants.

I wouldn’t care if I had the expendable cash to revamp my work and weekend wardrobes, and if my fat was sitting in optimal places — hello, boobs and butt!  Unfortunately, I don’t have the expendable cash, and the fat is sitting in a nice spare tire leaving me as flat as I started and looking a bit like a kid with an inflatable ring around his belly.  So I’m just going to have to do something about it.

Exercise, at this point in my life, is roughly out of the question.  On an absolutely perfect day, when all goes smoothly and according to schedule, there is about a 50% chance I will have enough energy to do some yoga.  On a normal day, maybe 10%.  On any one of the days in the last month, there was about a -50% chance of me doing anything.  Oh, and a 100% chance that I would eat some ice cream while I was sulking.  Good times.

So I began Weight Watchers for the 80 millionth time yesterday.  Each time I do it, it works.  Of course, then I get lazy around week 13 and quit.  Already I’m mad at it — what do you mean 1/2 a bag of M&Ms is 4 points?  Surely not.  It took me 30 seconds to eat them!  And they’ve revamped all of the point system, so the point values I remember are lower than what they are now.

Sigh.