Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Battling the Bulge

My new (and temporary) birth control is making me fat. No, perhaps I'm making myself fat since "they" tell me I have control over the hand that continues to relay forkful after forkful of cake to my mouth, but the pill is certainly the fuel to the fire. I just don't have the water (or wherewithal) to put it out.

What the hell happened?! I used to be able to eat grown men under the table and not gain an ounce. Then I have a baby and I gain a pound just thinking about having a muffin. It's fucked up. Because right now is when I most want cake and avocados and butter in everything. After the laundry and the incessant, and more often than not fruitless, job searching and applying, the toddler and spouse, the every day of motherhood- LET ME EAT MY GODDAMN CAKE! It's all I want at the end of the day. Sweet, sweet food. And carbs are my weakness (it would not be uncommon to find me letting out a relinquished sigh, and reheating a bowl of spaghetti at 11 p.m.).

I can't wait to stop the pill. I'm praying the new, non-hormonal IUD will at least give me the extra push (because the hormones in BC make me incredibly lethargic which shouldn't be the case with an ex-athlete and now world class toddler lifter and quasi-committed pilates doer) to kick start my whipping it into shape. Even now that I'm on the soon to be last week, I can feel my energy slowly prying it's way back out and that excites me. So much in fact that instead of the devilishly tempting tiramisu in my fridge, I decided to whip up some quinoa (due to Mrs. Woolf's awesome new section, Eat Well, over at GGC) and topped it off with a few slices of avocado. Drank some water and went to bed early. Today I plan on working out.

And if all else fails, I'll always look to my idol in aging and lifestyle Mrs. Sophia Loren. Because if a woman who looked like this-

was quoted as saying this-

"Everything I have, I owe to spaghetti." ....

And STILL to this very day looks amazing. Well, than maybe I'll just cut myself a little slack. God knows no matter how disciplined I could trick myself into being, I'd NEVER, EVER in a million years give up my spaghetti.

-This is where I'd post a picture of myself as a baby, with a face full of spaghetti, but since I can't find it, I'll post the next best thing-

And maybe I'll just avoid applying to the Italian restaurants...just to be on the safe side.


Chelsea said...

it's sickening how standards have changed. The ladies of the past had hips and boobs and were gorgeous.

* we are all very much harder on ourselves than we need to be though-as you know this already. You probably look amazing. and who cares anyway with a little grease ball-sweet baby with that adorable face? Omg. stop it. he's too cute!

I've tried to diet, and then I'm like "i NEED coffee creamer and CHEESE and CHOCOLATE! Screw it! I'm done with this diet!"

Amanda said...

I miss (well, I suppose that would be a misnomer since I never actually lived then) the old days when it was acceptable, nay, THE NORM for women to be more than a size 0. I'm sure they were conscious about their weight and figure then too (that doesn't escape anybody or any time period) but their expectations weren't so extreme. I only hold myself to the standards back then. Healthy, in shape and keeping a decent amount of curve in there. Right now I've just been slacking like crazy and I know it.

As long as I feel great at the end of the day and can actually fit into some of my jeans, then I'll be a happy camper.