Valentine’s Day is my favorite Holiday and I was excited as hell that this one would fall on a Friday night. Unfortunately, life took the reigns and it ended up being the most non-eventful Valentine’s Day ever, unless you count the puking spree. I’m a grown up, and a mom, so obviously as much as I’m disappointed that all the festivities got cancelled, both with my kids and with my Husband, I get it, this is what I signed up for when I had kids. Just sucks. BOO!!
So enough of the worrying about coordinating red outfits and candy bar cards, it’s over it’s passed, and back to my main concern which is my ever fluctuating weight.
Just when I think that things are finally moving in the direction I want, I take one sniff of a cupcake from across the room and the next day I’m back up a pound or two. I’m just not understanding. I’m an educated 35-year-old woman and I am not understanding the math and science here. Work out + eat less = lose weight…..right?? Help me out here!
But then another part of me believes with my whole heart that we are all pre-determined to be a certain size. That’s why some of us can eat without gaining and some of us can’t. Why babies are all born different sizes. Why we all go through puberty differently. Why some of us get nice boobs and others flat stomachs. So if that’s the case….is this just ME? I feel like I can just lose 20 more, that my God-given size is just a little leaner, but then there is the problem of the areas that no diet and exercise can ever help and that’s my mom muffin and cardinal arms (like what I did there?)
If I was able to get some work done, that would be my last 20 just like that. I’d be slender and lighter overnight and….happy? Well who knows, not even me. But that day isn’t here yet. I can only change what I can change.
So I do what any level headed woman of my age does to be rebellious against all things cosmic and karmic and I get an earring even I think I’m a little too old for along with my down to my waist hair. I’m two weeks away from my 1-year and I just don’t give a shit anymore if I’m trying to be 20 again. Maybe I don’t need plastic surgery, I just need a time machine. Do this all one more time and not fuck up and gain a hundred pounds when I get married. But it’s not that easy and I am here and not there, so here I will be.