I've been catching up on my cousin's blog* the last few days and am newly inspired to a) blog more, b) try to be funnier and c) not rely solely on my daughter's cute-factor for entertainment value. My pledge to you. Although, I will warn you that my brand of funny is generally the self-deprecating, the only-other-option-is-to-cry-so-I-might-as-well-laugh, sort of funny. Read on.
I'm starting to come to grips with the fact that my body will never be the same again. Not that it was at it's peak before I got pregnant (that's what four years of marriage will do to ya, folks), but let's just say that things were, erm, more where they were supposed to be. Now, uh, things, are much lower than they should be and other things are much wrinklier. If only our skin had a higher elastic content. On the rare (ha) occasions I get whiney about the state of my post-PAASHBOMB body (that's the Pushing Another, Albeit Smaller [thank God], Human Being Out of My Body body), I am often given one of the following three responses:
1. Enjoy "them" while you can! This helpful bit of advice most often comes from my flat-chested feminine counterparts who still believe that there's a "Body for Every Body" (curse you, Victoria's Secret).
2. Just keep nursing and the weight will come right off! This half-truth seems to work for some people. Like my dear friend, Alissa who had her cutie-pie two days after Lila was born. I love her dearly, but she recently confessed that she now weighs less than she did before she got pregnant. Also, the same friend whose doctor advised her that she should probably gain more than the usual recommended amount of weight because she was so itty-bitty to begin with. God bless her. Round about the same time, my doctor somberly scolded me with, "You gained too much weight," when I skillfully added 10 pounds in 4 weeks flat. To be fair, I did lose 30 of the 40 total pounds gained within a week or two of what I like to call "the Exodus." It was as if someone put a pin in me and deflated me from my previous blimp-like state (see previous post). However, since then my body has plateaued in the weight-loss department, hovering stubbornly 10 lbs over my pre-preggo weight. Hmm, maybe my doctor was right...
3. You look great! Generally the comment from my loving and supportive and intelligent husband round about the time I've thrown my 16th outfit on the bed and flopped down despairingly sobbing, "none of my clothes fit!" A bold-faced lie, but a kind one.
Now, I'm not complaining. Okay, yes I am, but there's a difference between complaining about my body and complaining about the reason my body is the way it is. And I'm definitely not complaining about the latter because I would gladly sag and crinkle and bulge and swell all over again for just one day of being that little booger's mama. I mean, look how cute!
Shoot. Failed my pledge already, but can you blame me?
Whoops. There I go again.
Oh no! I'm out of control!
On a totally unrelated subject, but more just a shameless lack of transition into concluding thoughts, I just asked Eric if he had any ideas for activities for my lesson on George Washington. I explained that my knowledge of our first president is mostly limited to the fact that he fought in the Revolution and that he refused to be king, despite popular demand. To which he replied, "Just like Clive Owen!" Excuse me? "You know, he refused to be king, and Clive Owen turned down being James Bond." Yeah, that's the same. Needless to say, I've got some more lesson planning to do before the 22 six and seven year olds come stampeding into my classroom tomorrow morning. See ya, folks.
I can't be stopped! She's just so cute!
*She's actually my aunt's nephew's wife, or my cousins' cousin's wife, or my dad's brother's wife's sister's son's wife. She's my cousin. Check out her blog at http://alittlewhineandcheese.com - it's silly.