So, we got back from Disney World and it's been a bit of a whirlwind. First of all, we came in, threw our stuff down, and slept. Then I spent the week washing all the clothes, putting stuff away, and trying to get everything in order because I had to have wrist surgery one week after we'd gotten back. Then I spent a few weeks recovering from that. Then it was Halloween. (The Menace was Ariel....again.) Then I found out I was pregnant, then I had a miscarriage. Then I spent a week and a half sitting on the couch eating peppermint Oreos (oh yes they did) and trying to process my month.
Then I got on the scale.
All those months of running and working out to lose weight, and in five weeks (and a package of peppermint Oreos) I managed to put almost all of it back on. Crap.
Thing is, I had time to really think and evaluate. I really would like to have another baby, but I really need to lose weight before putting my body through that again. It really makes sense for us to wait until next summer before we start trying to get pregnant again. I would have time to lose some weight, we'd be in a better spot financially, and if I get hyperemesis again (there's a post for another day) I wouldn't ruin any major holidays with the puking.
Sometimes I so hate putting on my big girl panties and doing the responsible thing.
This brings me to my ass. My ass is a total ass. It's only happy when I'm sitting on it (peppermint Oreos optional). When I get up and try to do anything, my ass tries its very hardest to instigate mutiny. This morning as I was reading the newest issue of Shape magazine with Kelly Osbourne on the cover (Which, good for her! Although I must admit, I really liked her hair shorter.) I decided to stop procrastinating and get back on the elliptical machine. Sigh.
My ass immediately started to whine. I told it to shut up, turned up my MP3 player and hopped on the cursed machine. I was tooling along when my ass started to make trouble again. First it started trying to convince my calves and thighs that they were burning.
"You can't be." I told them. "We've only been at this for four minutes."
Then my ass started trying to hypnotize them. "You are getting tired." It told my legs. "You are getting heavier. You must rest."
"Stop it ass." I told it. "We're doing this."
Then, in a last ditch effort, at 5 minutes and 57 seconds into the workout, it pulled out all the stops.
"LUNGS!! We're drowning!" It shouted. "You'll never make it! We're going down! GASP! GASP LUNGS! Gasp like your life depends on it! Because it does! She's trying to kill us!"
It took me two more minutes to convince my lungs that ass was just being an ass and we weren't, in fact, dying. Then my MP3 player rolled around to a P!NK song. Yes! Listen up body! Last night P!NK performed on the AMAs. She was pregnant, and in high heels, and singing, and dancing, and wearing MC Hammer pants. If she could do that and not die, I sure as hell could finish 30 minutes on the elliptical machine.
Ass grumbled about it for a while, but I did it. Actually, I did 45 minutes.
Wait until ass gets wind of the fact that I plan to do it again tomorrow.
