Champagne Friday: Letting it All Hang Out

First of all, Happy Bubbles in Your Glass Day to You! It has been Monday all week around here...until today. Good Friday, indeed! Also, Happy Easter!! We didn't do Easter bunny pictures or an Easter basket this year because all Blue wants to do is eat the fake grass out of the bottom, so we'll probably be somewhere incredibly lame this weekend...like Yorktown. But next year it is ON!

So, let's talk a minute about post-baby body. And if you are a family member of mine, go to church with a family member of mine, or just don't care to consume your lunch while looking at photos of my uncooked-chicken-skin-belly-fat, then close this window and I'll see you next week. For everyone else, let's do this.

So, this is me:

Or rather...it was me. This photo was taken during our first trip together after Neal returned home from Iraq the first time. At the time this was taken, we had been dating for all of about 17 minutes. I was a fitness director at the local YMCA and taught an average of 20 aerobic classes/week (most of which were advanced like jump rope interval, spinning, and my very own version of kickboxing in the pool). The only reason I had any body fat at all was because of this:

*photo taken at the Richmond Children's Science Museum just last month...which tells me they are still preaching this...which tells me our children are destined to be obese for.ev.er.*

Also, there may have been a fair amount of wine and perhaps some vodka consumed on the weekends, which is why I only have a 4-pack and not a 6. But, in general, I was smokin' hot and Neal, being 10 years older, was that guy.

Fast forward 8 years. I've delivered 2 babies (albeit one was just ounces and I only gained about 10 lbs with him, it still added to the total), one of which was 8 lbs. even. With a big head. And he loved McDonald's cheeseburgers, Sonic sweet potato tots, Wendy's Frostys (or Frosties?), pretty much anything from Chick-fil-a, and chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Sometimes he loved fruit, but mostly he liked chocolate and cheese. And that bring us to this:

And this is beautiful, too. It's the creation of life and the very essence of fertility in the flesh. It's also Photoshopped stretchmarks and not really fitting into any of my clothes anymore...even the maternity ones. These photos were taken about a month before Blue was born.

Then I had a baby. Then I hobbled around the house for almost 2 months, trying not to pee on myself every time I coughed, sneezed or laughed and I used a squirt bottle instead of toilet paper for probably about 6 weeks too long because I was terrified of rubbing something raw. It wasn't until I went back to my OB for my post-delivery exam and she said, "I can't even tell where your stitches were" that I even dared to look down there. Up until then, it was the final frontier that I had no interest in settling.

My final weight at delivery was something like 225 lbs. When I got pregnant, I was an exercising/Paleo goddess and weighed in around 170 - which is very normal for my Amazon height of 5'7" and sturdy German physique. By the time I was healed and ready to stop wearing panty liners on the regular, I was 206. Today, I'm 205. I'm stuck at 205.

Let me tell you something about being 200+ lbs and wearing size 16 pants. First of all, we ordered a step ladder from Amazon after Christmas because we had to go vertical in this apartment and we can't reach anything. It came with a sticker that very plainly said, "person plus materials cannot exceed 200 pounds." Neal argued that it meant I just couldn't stand on the top rung. But that's still pretty damn depressing. Even without my paintbrush, I can't stand on the top step because I'm too heavy. Ouch. Also, all of my jeans are size 12's. I have one pair of capris that, if I wear them for 2 or more days, I can stretch them out to a 14, but that's it. And February in Virginia is not capris weather. So I've been buying jeans at the Goodwill to get me through (because if I had to wear maternity jeans until I fit back into my old ones, so help me God...). So, now in my cedar chest, I have the entire spectrum of sizes. But I'm stuck at 205.

Let me tell you something about being married to a full-time Soldier. He is surrounded by very fit women all day long. Women who can run a mile in 6 minutes and do one-arm push-ups and carry a 30-lb rucksack on a 10 mile road march without ever busting a sweat. Right now, I can do none of those things. I used to be able to do 1 or 2 of them. I could carry my own against the GI Janes in his unit. But now I'm fat and flabby and stretchmarked and paranoid. So, so paranoid. I never thought I would say it...I'm suffering from a major crisis of self-confidence. Neal places a high price on eating well and being fit. I've been picking the chocolate chips out of his trail mix and forfeiting my gym time so that I can check Facebook and drink wine. And that brings us to this:

*Please excuse the ABC shower curtain. Blue's bathroom was the best place for this project.*

There it is...the nasty, flabby, stretched out, jellyroll, butt-in-the-front truth. I have somewhat improved upper body strength from lugging a 20+ lb child around for much of my day, but that's about it. There's no definition, no curves, just round and rotund...which would be awesome if it was the early 1800's. But it's not. And this has got to GO.

So, I have a plan. I have 30 minutes each day to work out, give or take (really just take, not give). And I have complete freedom to cook anything I desire for all of my meals. I have a college degree in Kinesiology and Health Promotion. And I have fit and trim women running around my husband all day*. In short, I have motivation. I am on week 2 of the C25K program, plus I'm lifting every other day and throwing some Pilates in there twice a week. We are trying to be exclusively Paleo**, but a) it's Easter, the season of sugar, and b) I still want my Friday night pizza and c) I'm fairly certain that coffee and red wine are not Paleo but whatever...I refuse to die and have my tombstone read "she should've just had the damn wine." So, this will probably take longer than the average bear. I don't have hours upon hours to devote to the gym. And I don't have a personal chef. Some days I only brush my teeth once. But I can do this. I can once again get to a healthy weight and, in the process, reinstate the infamous Ally self-confidence.

Here's where I'm starting:
right arm: 15 1/2"
left arm: 15 1/2"
bust: 42"
waist: 39"
hips: 44"
right leg: 25"
left leg: 25"

First of all, hey look, I'm proportional! And secondly, something tells me those are not Barbie's measurements. Even the fat Barbie they put out in the early 2000's.

I think I will update every 3 months as this could go on for awhile. I don't plan on being a model or even in the single digit jeans sizes. I want to be able to feel my hip bones when I'm laying down again and I would like to climb stairs, with or without Blue, without getting lightheaded and wheezy. So tonight I raise my single-serving bottle of champagne to you. I will still have bubbles...maybe just not the big mama size.

*To Neal's credit, he is oblivious to every feminine charm except mine and he tells me so frequently.
**My biggest weakness is between the hours of 9:30 PM and 1:30 AM, after everyone has gone to bed and I'm working. Any helpful hints you may have to keep me from snacking as I type, read, and bead are greatly appreciated. Nothing goes with a nice set of Swarovski drop earrings like a half of a loaf of bread and some Nutella, unfortunately.