Speaking of just being Miley, who rules the wrecking ball?
Spike* …
[*Insert “wrecking ball” every time you hear “egger ba”.]
Miley …
Have you played Ellen Degeneres’ game, Heads Up? I’m telling ya, gather a handful of moms, a few bottles of wine and a basement for the older kids and it’s comparable to a trip to Vegas.
Some players are certainly sharper than others and, maybe it was the wine or the fact that … I don’t know … something else, but honestly, if I hadn’t been there to witness this* I wouldn’t believe it to be true. (You can stop watching at :31 unless you want to watch me shovel even more nuts into my mouth.):
*No babies were hurt in the making of this video.
So, today marks 30 days since I completed my second Whole30, and in the spirit of my honest pursuit of improved humanhood, it seemed appropriate to touch base here. It’s a day of reflection, realization and, OK, a tablespoon of shame. It goes fast; both the time and the downward diet spiral.
Last month I listened to Sarah Silverman’s audiobook The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption and Pee. In it, she
said:
“Look, there’s not much useful to take away from this book – it’s largely stories of a woman who has spent her life peeing on herself. But there is one way I really believe I can help the world, and that is to encourage everyone, in all things, to ‘Make It a Treat’.‘Make It a Treat’ is similar in spirit to ‘everything in moderation,’ but still very distinct. ‘Moderation’ suggests a regular, low-level intake of something. MIAT asks for more austerity; it encourages you to keep the special things in life special.”
With the simple substitution of my “Thin Mints” or “Butterburgers” in place of Sarah’s “weed” (which she goes on to point out is among her favorite treats), it’s completely applicable advice. I am realizing that I am a woman incapable of making things a treat.
Prompted by a whiff of fryer oil or hint of chocolate glaze, I can generate a list on the spot of reasons I deserve it. It’s Monday, and Mondays suck. It’s Friday and Fridays are for fatty foods and cocktails. It’s 10:30 and I was born at 10:30. See?
Needless to say – reigning this conversation back to its Whole30 roots – I fell right off the wagon and got run over by all the tires, including the spare. It’s not a total loss. I am aware of what I need to eat to feel lighter and more energetic, and isn’t that half the battle? I once worked out a deal with a coworker where he promised to live at my house and slap food out of my hand in exchange for him getting to eat said food. (It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had.)
But fly or fail, the great thing about the Whole30 community, particularly their killer Instagram feed, is you always have a voice deep down whispering, “There are too many ingredients in that.” “Sugar sucks the life out of you.” and, “Keep it simple, stupid.” And for that, I’m forever grateful.
On a weekday, I can hang in. Typically a version of this Tuna Salad for lunch, partnered with an apple and almond butter (Costco has sustainable tuna and a no-sugar almond butter option). But after a semi-sensible dinner, I go sniffing out chocolate like a shark tracking blood in the water. I once ate a chocolate Santa in April out of desperation. What … the …
It also seems like regularly working out makes me a garbage disposal. But boredom does the same thing, so that theory’s kind of shot to shit right out of the gate.
So, what can you do? Monday is 32 days past and as good a day as any to hit reset. The flu is finally being exorcised out of this house (I’ve been diffusing lemon oil like mad) and spring is like 13 days away so I should probably think about what people are going to see when these layers come off. Monday it is!
My stream of thought from entering the workout area to depositing my “soiled towel” on the way out.
7:25 pm
OK … do I want to run? No, definitely not next to Usain Bolt over there. Elliptical? Ahhhhh … That girl’s rowing and she has a killer body. I’ll row. Yes, rowing sounds good. They always do it on The Biggest Loser.
Where are the towels? Last time the towels were over here and now there aren’t any towels!
“Excuse me, where are the towels?”
“That big stack on the other side of the desk, ma’am.”
“Oh, duh. Thanks.”
OK, no one else saw you ask, or say, ‘duh’. It’s cool, just grab one and put out the vibe that you planned on coming in and killing a sweet rowing sesh.
Feet in, adjust straps. Um, where do I put my phone so I have some jams? There is seriously no logical place on this damn machine to set my phone and not have it go flying when I pull back. I’m blowing my cover, looking super amateur. Don’t panic, woman! Think, think … sports bra, boom! Just tuck this in there, put my headphones in like so and start rowing this mug like a boss. Is she wearing special shoes? Are there special rowing shoes?
7:36 pm
Can she hear that I’m listening to Miley Cyrus? This is like the only Miley song I like, and I don’t even know why. It doesn’t speak to my character. She is absolutely tearin’ it up. Are we rowing at the same pace? Is she racing me? Should I be racing her? No, just row casually so she doesn’t think you’re cocky. Her outfit is legit. That guy on the fancy high-stepping elliptical is Sir Sweats-a-Lot. Sheesh!
7:42 pm
OK, I am Sir Sweats-a-Lot. Like a sick, makeup-dripping hoss. I have to stop rowing to get the towel. Ew, I set the towel on the floor. I think that might be really gross. Why do headphones not stay in my ears? Maybe I have a weird ear shape. How long is this girl going to row?
7:45 pm
15 more minutes till Child Care closes … dang. I’ll have to stop my workout. Oh, who am I kidding? My hammies are crampin and my toes are numb. I wonder if this chick has kids? Probably, and she has the best arms. She has yoga arms. Damn her and her defined yoga arms. I want to be her friend so we can talk about how she got her yoga arms and joined the secret society of moms who wear rowing shoes.
7:50 pm
Quit now or go 5 more minutes? She quit, so you could quit. But she was already on when you got here. Don’t quit … go 5 more minutes. You’re already so sweaty the handle is like a fish fresh out of the pond in your hands. What if it just goes flying out of my grip? Who is watching?
7:55 pm
Power down, sister. Nice work. I burned … 390 calories?! What? That’s only like 2 chocolate chip cookies. Whoa … remember to disinfect your cell phone. Sick. Maybe the sports bra wasn’t the classiest, or most sanitary, choice. Be slow to stand up.
Why is that dude just sitting on that weight machine watching everyone? Move, son!
My water gulp is so loud. Am I putting my sweatshirt back on? I’m so hot. When did it stop being cool to wear sweatshirts to the gym anyway? Are those pants or tights she’s wearing? Where is her underwear line?
OK, run to get the girls.
Who rocks the rose-colored glasses like a boss?
Spike …
Sir Elton …
I’m not afraid to own it. I’ll come clean right here, right now that every drop of estrogen inside me dances and delights at the mere thought of any of the both weird and wonderful things in this baker’s dozen of babyisms. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’m guessing it indicates that I am totally obsessed with babies and all the magic they contain in their ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. (Awww, especially when they wrap them around your finger as they’re falling asleep … the best.)
13 Reasons Babies are Awesome
1. their breath. This one I seriously can’t figure out. It’s a perfume custom designed with postpartum hormones; an olfactory dog whistle for new mothers. Their mouths release a mix of warm formula and slobber, and yet, it’s also the name of a flower. I’m thinking there’s a connection there.
2. the cute crunch and crinkle of a diaper. – There’s a particular sound that a diaper makes when a baby, sans pants, rolls or scoots or startles, and I find it joyful.
3. the way they startle. – It has never been beneath me to scrunch a chip bag or prompt the dog to bark to see those endearing wide-eye jolts.
4. they bite your nose. – They just have no social decency at all, those babies.
5. laugh spurts. – Only a baby can lose their shit for 3 seconds and then go stone-faced, only to repeat the process when prompted by the exact same stimulus seconds later.
6. that moment they recognize you. It’s always on a delay, but once they zero in and realize it’s someone they love, and they get the biggest smile and bounce and hit. That is gold.
7. crib babble. – There’s this magical 10 minutes between when they first wake up and when they believe an unacceptable amount of time has passed, when they just coo and laugh at their fingernails and such.
8. their tongues. – They’re out all. the. time.
9. playing big kid. – Sometimes you snap a picture of them making an adult gesture purely by accident and it’s funny … and cute. Cute and funny.
10. bubbly. – Babies in bathtubs are a favorite because they’re nakey, which is so cute, but also, they splash and then startle themselves on the regular. The startle leads to another splash and the fun just goes round and round.
11. sleep smiles. – What do babies dream of, when they take a little baby snooze?
12. a short list of body parts, in no particular order: cheeks, slope of their nose, butt (specifically fanny crinkles), thighs, belly, feet and neck (trapped rancid milk and all).
13. the smell. – If the population is ever dwindling, they can distribute the bottles of baby smell they have locked in an underground bunker somewhere and boom! We’ll be back to crowded Playdomes faster than you can say “ovary ache”.
Right before she brushed her teeth, she asked me to stop. She folded her sweet little hands, looked up to the sky and sweetly said,
That’s when you know you’re doing something right.
Since the first time I stepped on to see my 3-digit starting point after Sloppy Joan (also known as the slap-out-of-denial dose of shame they prescribe at the postpartum checkup), I’ve had a daunting number hanging over my head. Now, something to keep in mind here, I’m not shooting for the supermodel-slim stars. I have my eyes on a prize that puts me simply within my “healthy” weight range and by and large, a bullseye for my BMI. And I know that being well is more than a number; it’s the way your denim doesn’t dig into your flat tire and the extra 30 minutes you can tack onto the family bike ride. Now that we have those pleasantries out of the way …
The scale says:
Down – 24 pounds
To Go – 23 pounds
This is a dance I’ve done before. I’ve done it three times, to be exact, and the partner is always the same. It’s a two-faced counterpart that consists of both an uber health-conscious chia-eater and a fried food/sugar addict who goes to bed with the first cookie she sees.I admire women who keep their weight down through each trimester and quickly bounce back to their beautiful selves. I equally admire those who fight like hell to lose every pint of Chubby Hubby, basket of fried pickles and bag of Cheetos, because they know what they did and they know their sentence is a year – or however long it takes – of awkward sweat, suffocating guilt and tough choices to get it off. So, obviously, I am a card-carrying member of the latter, and I’m only halfway out of the woods.
I feel less pressure to drop my extra l-bs as quickly this go-around. First of all, red carpet season is over (thank goodness), and second, we aren’t planning on more babies. I always felt like it was a race against my maternal clock to shed the weight before the next tenant checked into my uterus. This time, I know it’s a lifelong investment.
The plan. The progress.*
Whole30 – Completed February 5 (100%)
Kayla Itsines 12-week Bikini Body – On Week 6 (50%)
Join a gym – Officially members and finding a stride(3%)
Clean eating – Oy. (2.1%)
Half Marathon – Need to train to start training in July (1%)
Hike – Planning phase (2%)
Yoga – Every Sunday (10%)
Slim & Sassy essential oil – Skeptical, but it’s in the mail (5%)
Kayla Itsines 12-week Bikini Body – On Week 6 (50%)
Join a gym – Officially members and finding a stride(3%)
Clean eating – Oy. (2.1%)
Half Marathon – Need to train to start training in July (1%)
Hike – Planning phase (2%)
Yoga – Every Sunday (10%)
Slim & Sassy essential oil – Skeptical, but it’s in the mail (5%)
*These percentages are based on complete bullshit because I don’t know how to do math or quantify something like “joining a gym”.
As the third born in my own family, I know the perks and pitfalls of being the baby better than anyone. Yes, the masses dote and fawn over your adorable little personality and thigh folds, but you also get two older siblings within earshot plotting your fall from favor. You get carried around for an obscene amount of time, but once they put you down, it’s all farts to the face and baby doll beheadings.
As we near Sloppy Joan’s 9-month mark in our family, I couldn’t help but notice the third-child tribulations are already turning up.
[1. I mean, who could blame JoJo? Those cheeks are just screaming for a squeeze. 2. This is an actual picture that sits on my desk. Spike was 2 by the time I finally set up professional family pictures and if I’m going for transparency here, it will likely be a few before that train pulls around again. Flashbacks of the desolate pages of my own baby book. For now, a dear friend provided a Post-it Sloppy Joan that makes me smile, and the group whole. 3. Ugh, older sisters. They never want to play with you and when they do, it always looks something like this.]
Who caught the best wind?
Sloppy …
Maya Rudolph 100 percent killin it …
