Act 1

Well, well.... starting a new blog (my first blog, for that matter) isn't as easy as I thought.  For months I've been contemplating it.... will people actually read it? Am I interesting? What the hell would I talk about? And throughout the busy days in those few months, I have found myself saying, "Self, this here is hilarious.  This would make a great blog entry."  But now that I sit down, committed to this bloggy... I can't for the life of me remember any of those captivating topics. 

Go figure.

I guess I could talk about how bummed I was that I didn't get to see my long time friend this past week.  She lives waaay too far away, but her parents are still here and she was in town with her toddler and new baby boy.  Our schedules just didn't click... between me dealing with my toddler in her manic bi-polar state terrible twos, my work schedule and her filling up on Q.T. with her precious family (which I completely understand), things just didn't work out.  And I miss her so.
What I don't want to talk about is how grateful I was to see her dad this afternoon returning that clothes she had borrowed from me. 

Maternity clothes.

Whoooaaa Nelly... don't go running away with that little nugget of a statement.  I was secretly glad to see him because, you see.... I am still holding onto that "Oh it's just baby weight" (and I am trying hard not to try on just a few of the smaller sized tops and bask in their billowiness and wonder if they look non-maternity enough to wear now).  When I know damn well it isn't still baby weight.  Anna (my peach) is two and a half freaking years old.  Granted, I gained over 60 pounds during my pregnancy.  Shut up.  She was a fairly large baby (8 lbs, 4 ozs) and "my body doesn't like pregnancy", to quote my fab doctor, who I am eternally in debted to for leaving me with such a miniscule cesarean scar... which really doesn't matter becaaaause....

I am coming to terms that a bikini will not be in my future.  Short-term or long-term.  Although, I do fantasize about being that Grandma who drinks icy cocktails and takes long draws off her Pal-Mals while gettin my tan on poolside.  Pausing only to look over the top of my blue-blocker sunglasses to glance at the clock and make sure it's not time for my story (soap opera).  Nah, not really.... the only inage that comes to mind is that shriveled lady from "Something About Mary".  She did seem to have it kinda good, though. 

Back to the topic at hand...
My pregnancy journey is a whole other blog filled with pain and awe and ultimately, blessy bless blessedness.  Except for what is left of my body.  I don't obsess over it.  The only time I even really notice it is when my muffin top effs up whatever shirt I'm considering wearing.  Remember the Seinfield episode where Elaine swears that the muffin top is the only good part of the muffin?  Um, no ma'am....The muffin top es no bueno in my instance.  I'm not out of shape.  I can keep up with Anna all day, erryday (but I so cherish a nap) and I can run a mile in under 13 minutes (I don't know if that's decent or not.  I just know that I don't pass out afterwards so it's an accomplishment for me).  But my midsection bits just aren't coming together like they used to.  In the olden days, I could just not eat much for a few days and drop a few pounds.  Magic.  Or hammer down at the track and slim down even faster.  Magic.  The problem now is, I have to eat throughout the day and I can't work out as much as I should.  Once or twice a week is all I can seem to muster.  Our gym is super convenient (less than two miles) and well-equipped (har har) but there are a million things I could be doing while I'm on the treadmill.  And don't get me started on the twinges of guilt at leaving my baby at her spry great-grandmother's house (who conveniently lives one mile from us and frequently asks if there are any errrands I need to run so she can fill Anna up on cornbread and banana popsicles watch Anna). 

I guess what it comes down to is, I'm gonna have to carve a little more gym time for myself.  Let Anna indulge in carbs and sugar at her Grammy and Pop's.  And maybe I'll get the magic back in me.