Thanks For the Much Needed Kick in the Balls, Victoria.

One of you beautiful jerks called me out for not posting. The worst part of being lazy is when someone calls your ass out for being lazy and you have to make a choice. Continue being lazy or get your butt in gear? Just having to make a choice is a step out of lazyness, so then I’m just like fiiiiine I will do some shit. Ugh.

 

Ugh is the word of the life right now. Things aren’t bad at all. Things are actually, mostly, really great. But it is also 230 in the afternoon and I am still in my pajamas and have had to repeatedly talk myself down from a jar of onion dip.

 

You try saying no to that gorgeous face.
You try saying no to that gorgeous face.

 

My magical snoozer baby that I was all braggy about? Woke up a million times last night to eat or pee or hang out or talk about Homeland. He hasn’t done this since he was a teeny new baby. In fact, August is such a predictable dude that one night of wavering from his 10-hour sleepathon had me believing all last night that I was never going to get a full night of rest until he is 20. I know this is irrational, but it’s not like you guys come here for my level headedness and well-mapped thought webs, so shove it.

 

Now, I could pretend that 230 pajama standard time is out of the ordinary, but I’m just as predictable as my baby. I’m in a rut. Aside from taking care of August, occasionally showering and sort of feeding myself, I haven’t been doing much of anything since Christmas. It’s been way harder than usual to get going. I have a five-month old so duh? But it’s annoying. Especially when I know that if I just buckle down and get my butt in gear, I could get a ton done.

 

There were a couple days recently when I had all the energy of my amphetamine-fueled college experience, and I cleaned my whole damn house. And I cooked some fat girl foods for a little dinner thing we had with friends. And then I cooked a million fat girl foods for the Super Bowl, because meatballs are the only reason I have to enjoy football. And I decided shit, I own a glue gun. Might as well start an Etsy shop. And I cut myself some bangs because that’s a decision that no one ever regrets. I know, none of that crap sounds like a rut, but outside of those couple days, I’m in Rutville. That was just a little crack-fueled rainbow in the sky. And that stupid rainbow makes me even more aware of the fact that I can get shit done. I can get a lot of shit done. I just don’t.

 

That's me.
That’s me.

 

The biggest areas where I have had trouble getting it together are exercising and eating right(ish). Pre-baby, I don’t think I ever willingly moved more than one mile at a time by foot. In middle school, I almost died when my gym teacher announced that we were about to start cross country running. I let him know that I don’t run across my street, let alone my country. Adam is a very active and physically fit dude. And I have asked him to help me exercise a million times. But I know that I can get out of it really fast by pretending that I think that he thinks I’m fat. I also stick to a strictly Buddy the Elf food pyramid diet.

 

This and chicken nuggets, really.
This and chicken nuggets, really.

 

What I’m trying to say is that I’m not exactly helping myself lose the baby weight. And honestly, I could deal with some of the weight if my body wasn’t straight busted from that whole sustaining another human life thing. I look like a deflated balloon. Wanna know what no one told me your stomach looks like after you have a baby?

 

That guy's bottom lip.
That guy’s bottom lip.

 

I started a certain diet plan that Ms. Jennifer Hudson endorses, back before Thanksgiving. It would work if I stuck to it. But I am really good at pretending that if I don’t track the points in that chocolate-covered cheeseburger I just ate, it doesn’t count. And while I’ve gotten comfortable with the elliptical and moved it into our bedroom so I have easier access to it and have managed to not turn it into a clothes rack…well, if I have to choose between exercise and sitting, sitting wins. And I give sitting a sleeve of cookies as a reward for being a winner. I made it to my first little goal in the beginning and I’ve been pretty much the same since then.

 

Now here is the thing. I’m not happy with how I’m living. And the only one that can change that is me. So, I’ve gotta start somewhere. Might as well start on the internet. I will see you guys next week.

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7 thoughts on “Thanks For the Much Needed Kick in the Balls, Victoria.

  1. Same struggles her, but don’t beat yourself up. Seriously. I’ve tried to be creative when I decide to not live in my bed once work is done. I put on all my fast dance songs, drop baby E on my bed and make myself do whatever weird jumping arm jazzercise thing I can think of for as many songs as I can stand. Fun, stupid, love the music and *added bonus* your baby boy will watch you and laugh like he’s thinking “this woman has finally lost her mind. And I get to enjoy the show”.

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