Watcher of...weight?

I was very unprepared, weight-wise, when I found out I was pregnant. I had already been packing on the pounds with a minor drinking habit and a major eating problem. Hey, I had just finished college and the celebration was still on, can you hardly blame me? Anyone who has had a baby knows that once you commit to getting pregnant, you're in for it. Your body as you know it is officially gone the minute that pee stick shows the little smiley face. 


People tell you: Don't worry, it's for the baby, take pride in your body for all that it's done, blah, blah, blah. I get it. However, that doesn't change the fact that every time I put on my pre-pregnancy jeans, I have a muffin top, or the fact that I have to wear spanks to even think about wearing a tight dress. I really did try, I wasn't one of those women who claimed they were eating for two so they took double helpings of pasta and brownies.  Okay, maybe I was a little bit like that, but I only gained 28 pounds so I did make a concerted effort to watch my weight and stay healthy. 


As the saying goes, "9 months to put it on, 9 months to take it off." Well, lets just say, my 9 months to take it off has turned into 13 months and counting. As I've mentioned, I've been trying to follow the guidelines for Weight Watchers. It's actually a great program that has helped me to change some pesky food behaviors that were keeping me from losing weight after having Gabriel. The problem is 1) staying committed long-term and 2) not playing catch-up every week by eating poorly after my Thursday night weigh-in and eating healthy as soon as Monday comes around. 


So here I am, stuck at 4 pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight and about 20 pounds above my goal weight. I'm committing myself to a month of sucking it up and just DOING IT. I'm sick of seeing the numbers continually staying the same, week after week. And of course, by default, my husband is stuck doing it with me, even if he doesn't know it yet.


Please, bid me good luck and for the love of all that is Holy, do not pass the chocolate this way.

Bad dreams

Anything child-related on the news lately has made me an emotional wreck. First, there were the Chelsea King and Amber Dubois cases. Then I read about a mother poisoning her 3-year old child for attention from her boyfriend. After that, was the nanny who was using the child she watched as a punching bag. Finally, my Tia gave me a good story--a nanny had been watching the child for 2 months and his room went up in flames. She walked into his room barefoot to save the young boy. She said she didn't even feel a thing when she was doing it, although now, she is covered with third degree burns.
All of these stories have been infiltrating my dreams; you know the ones where you wake up, hoping when you fall back to sleep, you'll dream of something happier? But then when you finally drift off again, you pick up at the horrific moment you left off. This was me all night last night. Except it was my baby who was abducted. Long story short, I woke up this morning understanding (for only a very brief moment, obviously not comparable in the least to the pain these parents must feel) the anguish, fear, and anger that must run through them every single day that their baby is gone. Thankfully, the last time I woke up this morning, instead of hearing silence, I heard the bubbly squeals of my son in the other room. I got up early, went into his room, and picked him up. I hugged him, gave him a kiss, and whispered into his ear, "Good morning, I love you." He looked at me quizzically and said, "Huuh?" (I'm just going to tell myself that was his way of saying ditto). Then the moment was over and we made pancakes. It's been a good morning.

Intros and such

Before I go into who I am and all that jazz, I would like to put out a disclaimer: I am not a writer, nor do I claim to be. I wasn't an English major. Half the time, I don't even like writing. I'm not quirky or funny. It takes a lot of time and concentration to be a good writer, both of which I have little of. Not to mention, blogging is a lot of pressure! You are putting yourself out there into the great, global abyss that is the internet for those stumbling around to find and read. I'll be honest; I'm a creeper. You don't think I've read your blog, but I have. And I have judged it. Maybe I liked it, but you'll never know. I imagine that's how this blog will go and I'm fine with that. If you decide to comment, that's fine too.

Back to writing, I really do love it. It's an easy release and makes me feel good, so that's why I'm starting this blog. We'll see how long my motivation to write will last, as my motivation for new "hobbies" generally lasts 2 weeks and then is tucked away in my mental file with all the other "great" things I was going to start doing (which includes working out, clearly that one's tucked way in the back).

Anyway, about me: first and foremost, I'm a mother and wife. Obviously anyone who is reading this most likely knows me, and how much those two men mean to me. But don't be fooled, I am much, much more than just that: I am a sometimes "Weight-Watcher," a perpetual reader, a bit of a control-freak, a believer in peace, a novice chef and a beach frequenter. I dislike poor grammar and those who use it, as well as those who believe it is easier to write "k" instead of "okay" or "u" instead of "you."

My little family recently relocated in November to San Diego and are currently on the hunt for the "home of our dreams...," which essentially means we want a house with a yard and a decent kitchen for a good price. Apparently that is way too much to ask for in California, but that's worthy of a post all on it's own. I work for a foundation and on the surface, it has it's ups and downs, but deep down, it's a pretty great place to work and they treat me pretty well.

I may provide my recipes/suggestions, include a bit of my weight loss struggles/successes, and a complaint or two about society in general, but most likely I'll end up bragging about my chubby, handsome, bubbly little boy and my loving and thoughtful husband (who, by the way, made me a delicious weight watcher friendly meat loaf the other night).

If you can hang with that, we can hang.