First of all, breastfeeding ain’t helping me loose weight. I mean, I know I shouldn’t rely on it to do all of the work for me but I have to admit, that was one perk I was looking forward to that I don’t seem to be reaping the benefits of.
Next, I’m extremely bloated. Like so bloated I’m always sucking my stomach in when I’m wearing tight shirts to keep myself from looking pregnant. I need a girdle people.
I walked by a wall of mirrors at Hobby Lobby a couple of months ago and wondered if I was starting at carnival mirrors. Seriously? Is my gut that huge? I snapped this photo and texted it to a friend freaking out, wondering if maybe I was actually pregnant with twins last year but one didn’t come out yet and is just really really overdue.
Why, even though I’m eating less cheeseburgers and french fries than I have in years and actually cooking home cooked meals, do I have a beer belly? I’ve never even tasted beer (unless you count root beer)!
Why are my workouts with baby not slimming me down? Now I’ve gotta run too? Like real, hard, exercise? Yuck!
I took two more pregnancy tests to be sure.
I once saw a guy on the Discovery channel that had elephantitis and his face got really really big. Maybe I have that in my stomach?
I was hoping I’d have an excuse. But I’m not pregnant. And I don’t have elephantitis. I’m just fat.
I’m no longer in denial. It’s time I do something drastic. Commit myself to something. A gym pass just won’t cut it. It’s not enough to motivate me. I think I’ll join Stroller Strides. It’s not Jenny Craig, Weight or Watchers, but it’s cheaper than getting lipo.