Again with the Beer Baby . . .

I’m fat.

I get it.

It happened again.  We were at a cocktail party Friday night when someone asked me, “so which number is this for you?” and glanced down at my abs-of-steel region.

Ugh. 

“We have three, and we’re done,” I replied.  

“Not pregnant.  Just fat,” I added, which prompted her to say, “oh, you’re not fat!”

Well then why’d you just insinuate that I was pregnant?  Nobody sees Kate Moss at a cocktail party, (holding a wine glass, by the way,) and comments on her pregnancy.  Poor Hubby hates when this happens, mostly because he has to clean up the emotional mess that accompanies my death spiral of self-esteem. 

I get it.  I am fluffy.  Generally, I’m okay with it.  

An acquaintance (who happens to by gay, so I totally trust him,) told me I just need to own my plus-sizeness.  He’s right.  No one is fooled by what I wear if I try to hide my plumpness.  So I try to dress appropriately; I try to look nice and wear clothes that fit.  I don’t look frumpy (except when I’m wearing my bus-stop sweatpants and my puffy coat.  On a side note, puffy coats are NOT flattering, especially on big girls.  But damn if that coat is not warm.)  Since I carry a lot of weight in the front, I can’t rock a tight dress – I need something with an empire waist, which is more flattering, but which apparently looks like I own stock in Motherhood Maternity.

I carry my weight in my front.  (And hips.  And cheeks, and upper arms, and boobs.  But NOT in the rear.  My badonkadonk is more like just a badonk.)  Just to clarify, again:

Me pregnant:

The back side is F-L-A-T.
The front?
Not so much.

Me, pregnant and bloated with a beer baby:

My point is that I am making efforts to be more healthy.  I’m doing Weight Watchers . . . AGAIN . . . and I go to the gym.  But it’s going to take some time. I am never going to be a size 10, and I am okay with that.  I am fluffy because I prefer beer and pizza to salad and a glass of ice water.  I do not have a thyroid problem nor do I have a genetic propensity for obesity.  My body has borne three children and endured various other emotional/hormonal events, and it has not bounced back.  I OWN it.   

But for the love o’ pete, it hurts my feelings when grown-ups insinuate that I am pregnant.  I struggle with it every day and I don’t blame anyone else but myself.  I try to be a kind person, a good friend, an understanding wife, a loving mother.  I wake up every day and try to be all these things, and I know, intellectually, that these qualities are what matter most.  So when you meet me at a party, let’s talk about religion and politics, but NOT my weight, because that, my friend, is a sensitive topic.

High School Reunion: part 2

I debated what I was going to wear to my reunion and even went out and bought a new outfit, but in the end, Hubby said, “why don’t you just wear that hippie dress you like so much.”  It’s cotton, it’s casual, and it’s comfortable, so I agreed.  He kept reminding me that I didn’t need to get dressed up all fancy-like; “you’re going to a bar.  In Manassas.”  Granted, Manassas is not a thriving metropolis like New York City or Los Angeles, and indeed, our reunion was not at The Palm, but still. 

So I wore my hippie dress – a blue strapless maxi dress.  It was a good choice because, as my mother used to say, it covered a multitude of sins.  I tried it WITH spanx and without.  The thing is, my Spanx must have shrunk in the wash because I had a helluva time getting those suckers on.  There was a lot of pulling and stuffing and maneuvering and persweating.  All kindsa sexy.  I’ll pause for that image to sink in . . .

I did my hair and applied makeup.  And by did my hair, I mean washed it and dried it and broke out the curling iron, all on the same day.  I had showered, all by myself, without anyone barging in to ask if I can turn on the tv or reach the cereal or “smell this.”  Finally I was on my way.

We had a great turnout at the reunion, although we were not able to get in touch with everyone with whom we graduated, and many people were simply unable to attend. Everyone seemed so much more laid back. 

SO very laid back.

At one point, someone (who shall remain nameless, but you know who you are) broke the cardinal rule and asked me the dreaded “When are you due?”

Ugh.

My response?  “You bitch!  I’m not pregnant!  I’m fat!  You KNOW better than to ask that question!” 

Rest assured, this exchange was all very good-natured and laid back.

She was SO apologetic and embarrassed, and I kept saying things like

“clearly my Spanx is NOT working!”

and

“I’m drinking beer!  Of course, I AM drinking for two, you know.”

Later, in the restroom, I looked at myself in the mirror and declared, “ I DO look pregnant!  I look four months pregnant!  Why didn’t anybody tell me I look pregnant in this dress!  It’s a beer baby!  It’s not a real baby!” 

See how gracefully and tactfully I handle a little embarrassment? 

Seriously, I am well aware that I need to lose a few 50 pounds and I have been open about my struggles.  But just to clarify:

THIS is me pregnant:

THIS is me fat: 

You see the difference, right?  Please, tell me you see the difference!

Other highlights of my evening:

• I apparently told the dentist ALL about my root canal.

• I told the CPA, whom I have known since elementary school, to be sure to tell his mom that she was “the BEST substitute teacher EVER!  She read us James and the Giant Peach!” So cool.

• I reminded the Wrestling Coach, the CPA, and the Dentist about a time years ago that we ran into each other at a bar in Richmond, which prompted a discussion on all the different places we had peed in the bar.  Just so you know, I only peed in the restroom.  It was the Men’s room, but still.

• I was reassured by my girlfriend that yes, my high school boyfriend is INDEED pining away for me and considers me the one that got away, and that he does this while happily married with a wife and beautiful daughter.  I THINK there may have been some sarcasm infused in this conversation.

• I felt up the Barber.  I couldn’t help myself.  His boobs pecs are bigger than mine.

• I reminded the Nurse all about the time we ran into each other at the Gynecologist's office, when she politely excused herself from my exam.  Um, thanks for that.

• I told the Clemson grad her hair is just as big now as it was then.  So tactful.

• While talking to my girlfriends, with whom I have frequent contact, I told them, “I see you b*tches all the time.  I’m going to mingle.”  It's a wonder I have any friends at all.

• I came this close to asking the woman in the bathroom stall next to me, (thinking it was my girlfriend,) to help me pull up my Spanx.  It was NOT her.  That could have been embarrassing.

• I put my name tag all over the Employees Must Wash Hands sign so that it instead said BoyMommy Must Wash Hands.  Apparently I thought this was HILARIOUS.

• Curious as to how they manage to keep all their patrons straight when a roomful of people is ordering drinks,  I asked the waitress if they used special code names, and was mine “b*tch in the blue dress.”

• I put my business card (free on Vista Print!) in everyone’s cleavage and/or breast pocket at the end of the night in hopes of promoting my blog.   

• I also reminded people to click on my ads on the blog because that’s how I make some money.  I’ve made six bucks so far!  I’m gonna have to open up an off-shore bank account.

• I made a friend re-take a photo because "my arm looks like a thigh!"  Unfortunately, when he re-took it, my response was, "now it looks like a whole leg." 

I guess my arms get fat when I'm four months pregnant with a beer baby.

 

Favorite Quotes of the Summer . . . so far.

Favorite Quotes of Summer "Vacation"

1.  Necessary background info:  Small is . . . well . . . small.  He is only in the 1 percentile for weight; in fact, he isn’t even on the curve on the doctor’s growth chart.  He eats well and he is not malnourished, but of all three of our boys, he is the one who likes fruit and veggies.  Plus he is a busy little guy – he’s got the metabolism of a meth addict.  After our last weight check at the pediatrician’s office:

“Is Small gonna grow up to be a midget?”

Besides, I think they prefer to be called Little People.

2.  Medium hands me a tissue.  “Here.  I put the booger on the inside.”

Super.

3.  Randomly . . . “When you die, I’ll think of you.”

Um, thanks?

4.  SOMEone decided a giant plastic baseball bat full of gumballs would be a good birthday gift for Large.  It is not. 

“Mom, I have gum in my hair.  I have learned. my. lesson.”

Shane gets his math skillz from Mommy.

5.  Necessary background info:  Shane is a stuffed wolf Medium got at Great Wolf Lodge last fall.  He goes with us everywhere.  He’s like a member of the family, and I’ve had to superglue his nose back on three times.  You know I’m not supposed to play with the superglue after the Great Superhero Convalescent Home Incident of 2007. 

Medium: “Did you know Shane knows how to talk?  Watch.  Shane, what’s 2+2?”

Shane: “um, 5?”

Large: “It’s 4.”

Medium: “I said he knows how to talk; he doesn’t know math.”

6.  Necessary background info: I generally don’t wear tank tops as they accentuate my bat wings.  On one particularly persweaty day, however, I wore a tank top.  The fashion police, cleverly disguised as my 6-year-old, had comments:

“your armpits are getting furry.”

7.  Necessary background info: My in-laws have a pet turtle.  And by "pet," I mean they found him in the middle of the road and decided they needed to bring him INTO their home.  Now my FIL cooks the turtle hot dogs and lovingly cuts them up into little pieces, because lord knows we don’t want to have to take a choking turtle to the vet.  So when Hubby went to the fridge to get a snack, my MIL reminded him,

“Don’t eat the turtle’s watermelon.  It’s not as fresh.”

Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve said THAT . . .

Yes, folks, the turtle also gets temperature-controlled watermelon chunks. 

8.  Trying to catch up with his cousins, who took off on their bikes . . . "I'll never catch up to them!  What if I come back with raccoons and sloths all over me?!"

Wha?  What the h*ll have you been watching?

It’s only the beginning of July . . . I’ll keep track of my family’s utterances so I have something to blog about again later!

More Gym Misadventures, for Your Reading Pleasure

The misadventures continue . . .

My observations at the gym this morning.:

Dude, work on your triceps!

1. The wall of mirrors in the class studio is like a giant funhouse mirror.  Surely my batwings are not that floppy.  (Didn't know there was a name for that underarm floppiness, did ya?)  Why does my reflection look so much larger than everyone else’s?  When I stand directly in front of the instructor, I’m quite sure the patron immediately behind me cannot see her at all. 

2. The easiest part of yoga this morning was when the instructor asked us to bend into a seated position so that our chests were touching our thighs.   Hehe.  NO problemo.  Take that skinny b*tches with your perky B cups. 

3. Every mother holds her breath when the attendant from the nursery quietly sneaks into the back of the room and scans for her target.  Today it was my turn.   Small apparently does not realize how much will power it takes for me to get to the gym in the first place. 

4. My weight loss strategy apparently entails purchasing double-dipped chocolate covered peanuts at the grocery store immediately following my workout.  And also opening them in the car on the way home.  (I needed sustenance for the 3 mile drive.)  I got chocolate on my workout shirt . . . the irony of this is not lost on me.

5.  College girls home for the summer annoy me to no end.

·      Me:  

a)  sweating like a whore in church, 

b)  trying to prevent my pants from catching fire lest my thighs rubbing together cause a spark, 

c)  learning all I ever need to know about Pink on E! because heaven forbid the gym make NBC available, 

d)  feeling constricted by my too-small sports bra, which I purchased because if I wear my actual size then I’m liable to get a black eye or bruised knees from all the boob-floppin’, 

e)  and working the elliptical next to a mouth-breather.  Lucky me.

·      College girls: 

a)  carrying cell phone at all times, 

b)  sporting brightly colored sports bra vaguely covered by off-the-shoulder Flashdance sweatshirt, 

c)  wearing Nike running shorts that show off tanned, athletic legs, 

d)  and somehow not sweating.  Perhaps because there's no actual working out taking place.

This bothers me because when I was a college girl home for the summer I hated working out.  Riding the bike to nowhere for 10 minutes made me feel like I was going . . . um, nowhere and I was morbidly afraid of falling off the back of the treadmill.

6.  I went to the gym in the evening recently; usually I go in the morning.  The gym has a foul odor at night.  It smells like an aromatic cocktail of adolescent sweat, frito breath, and feet.

7.  My girlfriend told me the other day that she couldn’t believe how strong I am.  She’s on crack.  Also, she wasn’t paying close enough attention and she missed the part where I switched to the 2.5 lb. weight.

8.  I am thankful that I know the difference between a swimsuit and a workout tank, unlike one of my fellow yogis this morning.  I had to refrain from touching her lightly on the arm while shaking my head and saying, “oh, honey, no.”

9.  You know I have a thing about toes.  (Read about my strict flip-flop policy.)  If you don’t take care of your toes, please don’t be flashing those puppies around.  I’m not saying they have to be perfectly painted at all times, but if you’ve picked at your big toe so much that your toenail looks like it’s about to be swallowed up by the toe around it, please, for the love o’ pete, wear socks. 

10.  If one more person reminds me that it’s almost bathing suit season I am going to lose my sh*t.  According to my calendar  I now have approximately 1 day in which to lose 50 lbs.  I don’t think it’s gonna happen.

Well, peeps, I hope this blog entry has made you feel a little better about yourself.  It has certainly made me feel worse about my chocolate-covered peanuts, which I will be thinking about as I sit pool-side tomorrow.