Tag: weight loss

Hunger Games

On By Doser3In Dreaming of Mommyhood - GeneralLeave a comment

If someone had told me 20 years ago, I would have a problem with my weight, I’d have laughed them right out of the room.   I’d have slapped them in the face with a, “shut yo mouth”.   Alas, having two kids later in life and a horrible sense of will power means I’m fighting the dreaded weight gain that seems to hit so many other 40 somethingers.

When I graduated high school, I was 6 feet tall (same height I am now) and weighed 145 pounds.   I was considered underweight.   I ate like a horse, though, putting away large Pizza Hut pepperoni pizzas all by myself.   I drank good ole Southern sweet tea, ate fried foods, indulged in sodas and chips.  I ate like it was no one’s business and I didn’t gain an ounce.

When I started college, there was always that whole “Freshman 15” that most college students gained.  Uh uh, not me!  I still managed to stay around 145-150 pounds, at times looking emaciated.   I was made fun of for being a stick, with no boobs and no butt.  I had no hips, so men’s jeans and pants fit me superbly.   I was super self conscious back then, but for the complete opposite reason I am now.  These days, thanks to that stupid BMI, I’m actually considered overweight.

I’ve never in my life had to struggle with weight as badly as I have over the past year.   For some reason, after having Henry, I was unable to lose the weight and actually put it back on.   Being the vain individual I am, a serious character flaw I know, I’ve allowed myself to spiral down into levels of self deprecation I never really knew existed.   I found myself sobbing at the start of the year, literally trying to find a way to get myself to just either not eat or immediately purge the food I did consume.   I tore my husband apart, as he watched me.   I think my constant berating of myself genuinely caused him pain.

I went to my doctor, who tested my thyroids.   I prayed every night for the answer I wanted, for there to be an actual medical condition for what I was going through so that I could take some pill and “cure” myself.    I wanted hypothyroidism so badly, because if that’s what I had then I could be treated, then I would know what was wrong with me.   Of course the results came back negative, which sent me even further down the black hole of self hatred.  My doctor did tell me that I could be on the outer fringes of something known as postpartdum hypothyroidism which happens in women who’ve had children.   That didn’t exactly help me to feel better.

I found myself eager to try every diet fad possibly.   I wanted to have my jaw wired shut so that I wouldn’t eat my sons’ leftovers, which I’m sure that, along with my declining metabolism, was truly the sole cause of my weight gain.  I did my best to hide my self hatred from my boys.   They were, and still are, always eager to tell me I’m pretty, but as the days went by I became more and more thankful that I didn’t have a daughter.   And maybe that’s what started waking me up.

Girls are so difficult.  We’re hard on ourselves, we judge each other, we can just be all around unsupportive at times.   I’m sure a lot of my female readers want to argue this, but deep down it’s true.   At some point or another, you as a female, have either been judged, made to feel less than what you are, or have done it to another person or even to yourself.    I can only imagine if I had a daughter and she saw me tear myself apart over my physical appearance, how it could impact her.   Thankfully, my boys are completely oblivious to it.

It’s taken months, but I’ve finally gotten to a point where I’m happy with myself.   I don’t know if I’ve lost weight, but I can easily bike 20 miles, extreme hills included, in an hour.  I can run a 5k, possibly more depending upon who’s motivating me.   For the first time all summer, I have shorts that are actually loose on me.  It’s taken a lot of hard work, work that at times I’ve talked myself out of doing.   It’s taken a lot of will power, in that I can’t eat the little snacks that my boys eat and I can’t finish their dinners for them.   It’s taken a lot of support not just from my husband, but from my friends, and my work out partners.

Here’s what I’ve learned as I’ve turned 40.   I made a decision to have children later in life, at a time when my metabolism starts slowing down.   I can’t easily drop the weight like I could 5 years ago.   I may not always feel beautiful, but I’ve started feeling good, and my husband thinks I’m beautiful.   My friends are going to love me regardless of what I look like.   They’re going to support me, encourage me, and accept me.   So, why shouldn’t I do that to myself?

I’m tired of playing the hunger games.   I’m tired of looking at those 20 something moms and comparing my overweight body to their fit and toned ones.   I’m just tired of being my own worst critic.   So, as of today, Thursday, August 27th, I have officially declared an end to the Hunger Games of my life.

I Do Want To Love Myself

On By Doser3In Dreaming of Mommyhood - GeneralLeave a comment

I don’t enjoy feeling this way. I really loathe it. I want to be happy and I know I can be, I’m just not really sure how to get there. You see, I’m my own worst critic. I have probably the world’s greatest self-deprecating personality. I am NEVER good enough for myself, and I really want to move past this. I just don’t know how.

Perhaps I put too much into my physical appearance, but it’s been almost a year since Henry’s birth and I can’t seem to get my body back into shape. I have a gut, hips, and thighs that are larger than they’ve ever been. I have a butt! When I was younger (high school) and was 120 pounds (70 pounds lighter than I am now), I would have killed for some curves. At 6 feet tall, I was the butt (pun intended) of every joke around for being such a stick. Now? I would just love to lose 20 pounds.

I’ve never had an issue with losing weight or being thin, so I suppose this is why I’m angered so much. I envy my younger self. I envy those on television and in magazines who are older than me, are not stick thin, but can own it and be the most beautiful women in the world. I envy their abilities to let it go and embrace themselves. I’m 8 months shy of hitting that 40 year old mark and I don’t want to go into my 40s being sad and depressed.

Tuesday night, I had a Christmas party to attend. I spent an hour trying on clothes, before finally settling on what I felt to be the frumpiest outfit ever created. I started crying and of course my husband tells me I’m not fat and that I’m beautiful. He’s suppose to say that so how can I really trust him? “Who are you?” I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror. I was once the envy of so many others, and now? Well, now, I’m just average, and my personality has never allowed me to settle with average.

I told my husband it was great that I didn’t work because it would cost us too much money for me to go back to work. All of my old clothing from my Corporate America days no longer fit! I would need to buy a whole new wardrobe and that would pretty much negate the reasons for returning to work…needing more money.

I genuinely wish that I could happily look at myself in the mirror and be proud of how I look. These curves and stretch marks are thanks to two of the greatest gifts in this world…my sons. If I had my old body, then it’s likely I wouldn’t have them. They are totally worth it and I’m grateful that at least they’re the reason for my body metamorphosis. I work hard to try to relieve myself of some of this added weight, but nothing is working.

I trained for two triathlons and a half marathon over the past year! I can do more than I did before having kids, but I can’t seem to get rid of the weight. I actually shaved 20 minutes off my overall time on my last half marathon, and yet I’m still 20 pounds heavier than I was from the first one. It’s not muscle, folks, so don’t start down that path.

I know what my issue is, at least within the weight loss arena, and it’s my inability to get rid of the sugar and flour in my diet. I wrote a post a few weeks back about the harmful effects of sugar, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot expunge it from my life. I want to have my cups of coffee. I want to have the occasional treat. I don’t buy any sort of candies or cookies because I don’t want to deal with that temptation, but I can’t give up my coffee. I just can’t.

Five years ago, when I was at my thinnest and healthiest since high school, I was working at a corporation that provided lunches and snacks on a daily basis. These snacks consisted of ice cream, chips and dip, and even some of the yummiest cupcakes I’ve ever had. I only ran 3 miles a day back then (way less than I do now) and I was a size 10! Perfect for my 6 foot frame. I was even drinking a Starbucks venti mocha TWICE a day. These days? I treat myself once a week to a mocha and I ask for it to be skinny, and my coffee no longer has sugar, but instead splenda and I drink way less of it now than I did back then. I don’t drink sodas (which I did then) and I drink more water. So what gives? Really, what gives?

I would love to be one of those women who is able to name her stretch marks and rolls of fat. I’d love to be able to say, “Regina Roll,” while pointing at my belly, “you’re here because of Davey and for that I love you.” It’s just not going to happen and I don’t know what to do.

Part of me says it’s a losing battle especially around the holidays, but I can’t give in. I can’t let all the yummy and unhealthy foods readily available right now push me over the edge.

Maybe one of these days, I’ll be happy with how I look. Maybe one of these days I won’t “believe” I’m feeling the stares of other people around me for being fat. Maybe one of these days I’ll just accept that this is a part of life. Maybe one of these days, I’ll just destroy every mirror in my house. Or maybe one of these days, I’ll learn to love myself the way God does.

Hi, My Name is Mischief and I Approve This Message

On By Doser3In Dreaming of Mommyhood - GeneralLeave a comment

I’ve spent the better part of my blog writing about my first born son, Davey. It’s not unusual once you consider that he is the reason for the start of the blog. This morning, though, I woke up feeling a tad bit guilty that I haven’t really allowed my second born, Henry, to grace the words of my writing. Why is that? Perhaps it’s that he is so young and for the first couple of months he’s more like a blob, a phrase I’ve stolen from Angelina Jolie when she spoke of her first born, Shiloh. I thought she was heartless when she said those words, but having become a mom myself, I understand just how right she was. For the first couple of months, they don’t have much of a personality. They eat, sleep, poop, and cry. That’s it. But those days have long since passed with Henry. The boy will be 8 months old in a couple of weeks and I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t shared more of my adventures with him. Here’s the answer I came up with…I DON’T KNOW.

My Henry is the happiest baby I’ve ever met. He constantly has a smile on his face and doesn’t mind sharing that with the strangers of the world. I compare him a lot to Davey and how he was at that age, which may be a “no no”, but I like to see just how different they really are. He has two teeth, a lot faster than Davey did. He started crawling at 6 months and immediately began standing as well. He has a bottomless pit for a stomach, as I’ve had him on solids for a while now. And he sleeps! He actually puts himself to sleep without being rocked. I have him on the same nap schedule as Davey. So many said it would never happen.

Henry Mischief 2

Here’s the big difference between my two boys and the one thing that makes Henry so exhausting. He’s Mischief with a capital M. This child isn’t happy unless he’s terrorizing Davey, either by tearing apart something that he’s built or not allowing him to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse in peace. He loves the toilet and dog bowls, things Davey never bothered. He chews on furniture, shoes, and basically anything he can get his hands on, including any part of my body. He was actually trying to chew on my shins the other day.

I suppose the one thing that really sticks out, the one thing that is the most annoying habit of little Henry is his incessant need to try to climb baby gates! I put those gates up for Davey when he was about this age and not once did he ever try to touch the gates, chew them, sniff them, kick them, or climb them. It’s almost as if they were an electric fence of sorts and he never went near them. Henry? All of the above items I listed which Davey NEVER did, Henry does. It’s exhausting.

On the plus side, he’s keeping me on my toes which in turn is keeping me on my weight loss track. I wouldn’t want a docile baby. Where is the fun in that?

Please note the carnage of the Davey’s train tracks in the floor along with the demolition of his pieces of artwork all at the hands of Henry in the picture below. Sigh. My little one man demolition or basically any other pre-toddling 8 month old. Happy Wednesday.

Henry Mischief