I was a fat baby. Most healthy babies are good and chunky, but my baby fat seemed to hang on a little tighter than most. My dad jokes that my current stride is a bit off kilter because I learned to waddle, not so much to walk. But once the weight did release, I was pretty slim. For a time in my tween years, I was flat skinny. Then I settled into being a thin girl. Then a thin woman. Then I turned 30. That’s a cruel little joke Mother Nature plays on us.
When I was a thin younger woman, I ate cupcakes and Mountain Dew for breakfast, would forget to eat lunch about half the time and sorta ate dinner. It’s not really all that surprising that my hands shook and I had migraines all the time. My weight was a control issue (one of SO many for me): if I weighed a couple of pounds more than I liked, I just didn’t eat until it fell off. I knew the line on the scale I would not cross, and for many years, I didn’t. Just because I was thin, didn’t make me healthy or feel well. So in my mid-20s, I finally read some basic nutrition books and put the practical eating advice my mom gave me into practice. My health improved. My body was in decent shape. I felt better.
Now I’m square in the middle of my 30s. Monkey Boy has made eating healthy harder. Snack food just sits around our house. Important for him, not good for me. Every extra goldfish, animal cracker and Teddy Graham can now be seen on my hips and hind end. And well, this summer I had an affair with vodka. Now I’m carrying its’ love child. All my body image issues are surfacing. Am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? If gain too much weight, will I be too much for people to like? This is not a pretty side of me. It’s the ugly record set on repeat playing in my mind since my youth.
I know that I’m not fat. By most standards I’m on the heavy side of normal. But I am not pleased with my appearance. My weight is now at an all time high. Ten years ago, I would have taken a lot of Sudafed and starved 20 pounds off of myself. Thankfully, enough maturity, friend counseling and fitness education are keeping me from that course of action this time.
I also know what I need to do. I need to work out and eat better. Honestly, I’m not sure how much better the food is really going to get. My self-control regarding chocolate, cookies and cupcakes is embarrassing. But I can cut back on the cocktails and start working out. Realistically, I should aim to lose 10 pounds. Thankfully, I don’t have to do it alone.
My sweet friend Boots has launched her Boots Camp to help the rest of us get back into shape. She’s giving great tips and sound, realistic advice. I’ve decided to be one of her campers. I’m going to get back to where I want to be sensibly and with friends to do it with me. Join us if you like. There’s always room for more at our table.