Bad Fatty McMommy

Confession Time.

In the last two weeks, we have discovered that my youngest child, the 16.5-month-old baby, is apparently allergic to wheat...or gluten....or both. (Officially allergy tests are scheduled for the middle of March). At any rate, this has meant some enormous dietary changes for said baby; and because the baby is still nursing, for me too.

Did you know that wheat is in EVERYTHING? No, seriously, EVERYTHING. And if something DOESN'T have wheat in it, it's probably been cross-contaminated with wheat. Since we've cut out wheat, Baby's skin has cleared up, head congestion has cleared up, tummy problems have improved....it's really helping. And yet....I'm still having a hard time with this for myself. I'm not totally ready to wean yet, because Baby is VERY low on the growth charts, and I firmly believe that continuing to nurse is a smart decision, nutritionally. So what the hell is wrong with me?! Even when my child's health is at stake, I'll still choose to put a cookie in my mouth! Don't get me wrong, I've been trying, and I'm doing fairly well, but every once in a while I give in, and I feel like the worst mommy ever. Seriously, a cookie or your child's health? That seems like a really easy choice. It IS a really easy choice. Someone should just slap me. Seriously.

Food is My 'Want To'

One of my favorite movie lines is from the Steve Martin flick, "Parenthood". There's a scene where Martin's character has just angrily and abruptly quit his job when he learns he's been passed over for a promotion. He comes home to have his wife inform him that he must beg for his job back because she is unexpectedly pregnant. Martin's character stomps out the door yelling at his son that they have to get to a Little League that he is coaching. When his wife asks him if he has to go, Martin turns back and snarls, "My whole life is 'HAVE TO'!"

I quite often feel that way. There's not a lot of 'want to' in my life right now. That's what happens when you have kids. Everything becomes 'have to.' I have to get up in the morning. I have to make breakfast. I have to get 4 kids out the door. I have to change diapers and I have to make clean up the spilled milk. I have to do the dishes and the laundry. I have to feed the dog and mop the floor. I have to pick the kids up. I have to make sure homework is done and lunches are packed. I have to pay the bills, and I have to go to the grocery store with 4 little children in tow. I have to, I have to, I have to.

I really can't think of a lot of 'want to' in my life that can actually happen. Oh sure, I have a long list in my head of things I want to do,....someday.....but, on a daily basis, there are very few things I do for the sole reason that I just wanted to. Eating is one thing I do because I want to. Damn it, when the little ones go down for a nap, sometimes I just want to sit in front of the tv with a jar of peanut butter, a bag of chocolate chips, and a spoon. And what's so wrong with that if it's the one 'want to' in my life?!

I know, I know, I know. What about wanting to lose weight, be healthy, be happier, be more confident, feel better, feel sexier, on and on and on. Yep, I want all those things to. I sincerely do. I REALLY do. But, in order for those things to happen, there's a whole lot of 'have to' that has to happen first. I have to eat healthier (no more peanut butter and chocolate), I have to exercise (a LOT), I have to be committed to a life style change, and I have to be patient because to lose this much weight will take months. It's a lot of hard work that will HAVE TO be accomplished in order to reach those 'want to' goals. But when I choose to just sit and eat peanut butter and chocolate, that's a want to with no have to involved. I just do it, right in that moment, just because I want to.

Of course, there is have to that goes along with the want to of eating. It's the consequences that I have to deal with when I'm done eating. The result of eating just because I want to is that I now weigh 200 pounds, I'm wearing a size 18W, my knees hurt, and I'm incredibly self-conscious. And that's a lot of consequences. I guess everything really is 'have to' in some way or another. The question is, which 'have to' do I 'want to' live with?

Off the Chart

I was once told that, according to "the charts" a woman who is 5 feet tall should weigh 100 pounds. For every inch above that, she should weigh an additional 5 pounds. This means that, at 5 ft 1.5 in, I should weigh 107.5 pounds. Yesterday I weighed 197 pounds. (Don't get excited, I haven't made any attempt at diet or exercise, but when I weighed in at 200 pounds a week ago I was pms'ing. I've just lost 3 pounds of monthly bloat---nothing to brag about.) So, anyway, that means that, according to "the charts" I need to lose 90 pounds. That's ALMOST half of what I weigh. I am virtually two people. And I'm NOT pregnant. What I want to know is, where the heck is this supposed chart? Who created it, and what scientific data did they base it on?! HMMMMM??!!! Back in college when I was walking 20 miles a day and eating about 600 calories a day, I got down to 120 pounds. My hair was all falling out and my periods had stopped. But, according to "the chart" I was still 12.5 pounds overweight! The whole thing just adds to my feelings that this is an impossible task, so why bother. I REALLY, REALLY wish I could find a motivating factor big enough to get me to want to bother.......

Watch Out, Wide Woman Walking

I haven't bought new jeans since my two-and-a-half year old was new born, and that was one pair, that no longer fits. I've been putting off buying new jeans because I didn't want to buy them in the same size as the ones I already own. I kept telling myself that I was going to lose a bunch of weight, so I needed to just wear the ones I have until I can fit into a smaller size---No point in spending the money when the jeans will just be too big in a few short weeks. Yeah, right. Well, the one pair of jeans I have that do fit are in pretty sad shape. The fabric in the inner thighs is very thin from rubbing together....not a problem I would have if I COULD fit into smaller jeans.

I hate shopping for clothes as a Fatty. It's so embarrassing. I don't want anyone in the dressing rooms or the cashier to see the size I'm buying, and what's worse is when you try something on and it doesn't fit and you have to walk out of the dressing room, admit that it didn't fit, and go get an even bigger size! I think this probably also has a lot to do with why I haven't bought jeans in over 2 years.
But, it had become completely necessary, so, I finally gave in and headed out to buy a new pair of jeans (but just 1 pair, because I AM going to lose the weight, and no point in wasting money on 2 pairs!)

I was fairly certain I needed a size 16 or 18. Humiliating as that is, I grabbed several pairs from the racks and hurried to the dressing rooms, trying to fold the size tags under the clothes and not making eye contact with the dressing room attendant. Safely inside the dressing room, I pulled of my own jeans and caught a glimpse of my backside in the double mirrors. Oh my Lord. Wrinkly fat thighs squished tight against each other....I stood there in horror thinking about the last time my husband and I had sex....doggy style. EWWWW! How could he possibly have found that attractive? I was fighting tears at this point. I HATE shopping. I managed to compose myself and tugged on the first pair of jeans--a size 16. WAY too tight. Okay. Alright. I was prepared for this, that's why I grabbed the size 18. Pull on the size 18, and they don't fit either. Oh, I can get them on, but there's no way I could be seen in public in them. My legs looked liked sausages stuffed into casings and I could barely breath because of the waste band sinching off my mid-section. Great. Now what?! Oh, I knew what....I just didn't want to face it.

The only option was to hand over the too-small clothes to the attendant and face the cold, hard truth. I had to go to the 'W' racks. You know, the "Woman's" size clothes. At least, that's what the 'W' is supposed to stand for---"Woman." Whatever. You know the people who decided to add the 'W' to the sizes weren't thinking "Woman" when they did it. They were thinking, "WIDE!", or, "WOW--What a Fat Ass!!" Then they had to come up with a nicer word to sell to the general public of Fatty McFatties, so they coined the term "Woman." As if you are a REAL Woman because you've got REAL curves! Sure, riiiiiiight. Seriously, why do we need the 'W'? It's certainly not to make us feel better. Do they think we need an extra little reminder that---"Hey Lady, You've got a HUGE ass!!" And what's with repeating the sizes 16 and 18? Have you noticed that? The sizes go 14, 16, 18, 16W, 18W, 20W, etc., etc. Why do they repeat the 16 and 18 and then add a 'W'? Why not forget the 'W' and just keep going up. I mean, for God's sake, if you're already having to buy a size 22, do you REALLY need a 'W' added on to it?? Isn't it obvious that if you are wearing a 22, you're a Woman With Curves? Duh! Or, if they insist on the W, why not start the sizes over? At least we could feel a little better about the number! Like, 14, 16, 18, 2W, 4W, 6W, etc., etc. Seriously, no one can possibly walk away from a dressing room with any sort of self-esteem or dignity carrying a pair of jeans labeled 20W. Obviously, the fashion industry is not made up of Fatties.

Anyhow, I ducked my head and as quickly as possible I grabbed a pair of 16W and a pair of 18W and headed back to the dressing room. Of course I needed the 18W. Couldn't even claim a small victory of being able to walk out with the SMALLEST W. Nope, it's for certain now. I am a Fatty McMommy---a REAL Woman with REAL Curves. And I've got the 'W' on my jean label to prove it.

Choice is not always a good thing.

Whenever I hear an expert give advice about weight loss, it always comes down to the fact that every day, every hour, every meal, every snack, everything---is a CHOICE. Do you want to eat right, get healthy, look good, feel good, be able to play with your kids, live longer, etc., etc., etc. Or, do you just want to eat that cupcake and feel like crap? Well duh. That's an obvious choice, right? Well, the expert say it like it's obvious. But, sometimes it's not.

I know, I know, the right answer is to want to eat right, get off my butt and get some exercise, take care of myself, have some pride, and feel better. But that's not usually the choice I make. It's not the easy choice. When I'm sitting at home with a houseful of small children, hanging out in my sweats, no one around to judge me,....well, quite frankly, I'd rather eat the cupcake. Because in that moment, the cupcake is going to make me feel good. And later, I'll probably regret it; or, at least I might think twice about it. But really, honestly, in that very moment when the cupcake is staring me in the face, and I'm hungry, and tired, and the kids are swirling around me like tiny little whirlwinds, I just want the satisfaction of that damn cupcake. In that moment, I could care less about what I look like, what other people think, whether or not my pants fit, whether my husband still finds me attractive or not......who cares?! In THAT moment, not me. And unfortunately, it's THAT moment that counts. Because I can care about all those other things later, but later doesn't really matter if I already ate the cupcake.

So....how do I care about all those other things in THAT moment? How do I reason myself through those moments so that I DON'T eat the cupcake? This is one I need to ponder........

Well, the two year old just told me the one year old made a "huge mess, M&M's, momma..." Better go clean that up. Any guesses as to how I will accomplish that?

Doesn't Matter, I'd Just Look Like a Beached Whale

My little sister is getting married on the beach this week and I can't be there. I have 4 small children, a husband who is working 60 hours a week, and no one else I trust to take care of the kids for a week. My parents even offered to pay for my trip, and I turned them down. Who does that?! Who turns down a free trip to Hawaii?! At the time they booked the trip, I thought 'maybe' my in-laws might be able to stay with my kids, but they are aging and I wasn't totally comfortable with it. Better to decide then not to go, before the money had already been spent. I totally admit that in a lot of ways it was a huge relief to not be going. I think I must be depressed or something. The thought of just leaving my house stresses me out. What will I wear? Who will I run into that will leave me feeling embarrassed about how I look? Will the kids behave? Will my 16.5 month old, whom everyone in the free world has apparently decided is WAY too old to still be nursing, cry at me for milk in front of someone? Will the two year old pee or poop his pants? The list goes on and on and on. It's just so much easier to just stay home. A couple of weeks ago I actually got invited to a local playgroup with some other moms. None of whom I had ever even met, but it was probably a good setting for getting to know some new people. The two-year-old had croup and we couldn't go and I almost had to restrain myself from doing a Happy Dance.

I'm not saying that if I got skinny I would suddenly no longer be depressed and I would be filled with endless amounts of positive self-esteem; but I think it could help. So, why is it so dang hard to find the motivation? I woke up again this morning and was thinking about yesterday's post. You know, where I said that when I lost weight in college it just fell right off. I was doing a diet back then that was virtually no carbs. So this morning I decided I was going to start that today. I could do it. I did it then, it just takes a little will power, I can do it again. And I will be thin, and trim, and I won't be embarrassed to take my kids to that new water park that they've been begging to go to for a year. I was going to do it. For real this time!

An hour later I was in the middle of eating 4 donuts. Our neighbor brought over these applesauce cake donuts a few days ago that were really dry. It was like something possessed me and before I new it, I was melting butter in a saute pan and frying the dried up donuts in it. Oh my goodness they were yummy. Crispy, and buttery, and warm......and that was the end of it. So much for my will power. It lasted all of an hour (during which I was driving my kids to school and I had no food within reach anyway so it doesn't really count.)

Pretty sure I'm probably depressed and my self-esteem is locked away in the back of the storage shed somewhere. But, then again, those are just more excuses, aren't they? I mean, really, if I were MY mommy, there's no way I would put up with my bad attitude, disrespect, gluttony, and whining. I'd have spanked myself and sent myself to my room until I was ready to "act nicely." So why can't I do that? Why can't I 'Mommy' myself into losing this weight? Why can't I act the way that I expect my kids to act? Hmmmmmm.....this is getting a little deep, and I think I'm going to stop before I need a psych degree to get out of it.

Nonetheless, I WILL try harder......tomorrow......

Fatty McMommy. That's My Name, Don't Wear It Out.

I stepped on the scale this morning. That's always a great way to start your day. Pry your eyes open, brush the hair out of your face, wander to the bathroom to pee, and suddenly decide in your semi-aware state of consciousness that today you are starting that diet. I dug through the cupboard under the sink to unearth the old dial scale that we've had for years. Re-set it to zero, took a deep breath, and stepped on. I was expecting somewhere in the neighborhood of 190; which was not going to make me happy, but I was prepared for it. Needless to say, I regretted my foggy-headed decision to "Make today THE day" when the needle landed directly over 200. Wh--wait, What?! I've gained 10 pounds in a month? So....if I'm being honest here, my next thought was, "oh, whatever, why bother? I'm eating those cookies for breakfast....."

I didn't eat the cookies for breakfast, but only because there was only 1 left and I knew it would bum me out to only eat one. At some point, I do have to face this. At some point, I do have to get committed and do the work it's going to take to lose the weight. I need to lose AT LEAST 50 pounds. That's about as much as my 5-year-old weighs. I can't lift him. Wow. That's depressing. Damn, I left the bag of Valentine's Day Dark Chocolate Hearts up in the kitchen. Going to have to trek my butt all the way up there just to get them.....

I haven't always been fat. I was tiny as a little kid. I weighed 16 pounds when I was a year old. I was fat in middle school and high school. That sucked. I lost a LOT of weight in college, just in time to land myself a husband. Ten years later I'm a stay-at-home Fatty McMommy to 4 kids. And I'm learning something. It's very hard to lose weight when you are home all day with little kids. I eat because I'm bored and lacking adult conversation. I eat because the kids are stressing me out and if I don't eat I may run from the house screaming. I eat because the kids didn't finish what I put on their plates and it's a waste to throw it away. I eat because the two-year-old peed on the potty and we all have to have candy to celebrate. I eat because, because, because. I eat because the food is THERE. Back when I was single, and I was the only one in the house, I only kept small amounts of healthy food in the house. Back then, the weight just fell off. I lost over 80 pounds in 6 months. I had all kinds of free time. I walked to and from classes, to and from work; I walked in the morning and I walked in the evening. There were days I was walking 20 miles a day. Now days, I barely have time to walk to the bathroom and back without a child following after me wanting me to solve his latest crisis.

And yep, it's all excuses. Just one excuse after another. I know it, you know it, we all know it. I'm sitting here, literally within arms reach of the elliptical machine. My older kids are in school, the younger ones are napping. I could be on the elliptical, burning some calories. But I'm not, I'm sitting on my fat butt, blogging about the fact that I'm not on the elliptical. How's that for motivation?

So, that's what this blog is about. It's about me, and my Life as a Fatty McMommy. It's about how I got here, how I'm going to get through each day, and hopefully it'll eventually be about no longer being a Fatty McMommy. But, you should know that I'm not good at promises. I've gotten very good and the Mommy's Non-Promise. You know, when your kids ask you for something that you don't know if you can give them, or you just flat out don't want to go to the effort of, and yet you don't really have the heart to tell them "NO!"; so you utter that Mommy Non-Promise, "We'll see....." just to delay the matter? Well, that's where I am on this little journey right now. I may lose weight, I may not. I may find some motivation, I may not. We'll see.