I really don’t want to admit this to myself. So I’m going to write it here so I can’t escape this truth. I currently weigh the most I have ever weighed. At this moment I weigh in at 207lbs/93.89kg. That’s more than when I was pregnant with either of my kids. Which sounds bad, I know, but I was sick for most of both pregnancies, so they don’t really count. I actually lost weight with my second one. And I was back to my pre-baby weight before I even left the hospital either time. It sounds nice, but it was actually horrible.
Anyway, the concern is that I’m overweight now.
A lot of it is residual stress. The old job got me about twenty of these pounds in the last year. Then lack of good sleep, stress with money, and lack of sex aren’t helping either. But more than that, I’m just not taking good care of myself. I’m not eating well. And my exercise regimes have disappeared. My flexibility and endurance have worsened as well. I’m just turning into a blob.
And that’s just not good enough.
I mean, how can I really enjoy sex if I’m only focusing on how unhappy my body makes me? And, in a much less selfish way, I have two kids to watch grow up. I have to get back into shape and start making better food choices. I bought my wonder woman water bottle and have been trying to drink more water to stay hydrated (ignore the fact that I left it at home yesterday). But, obviously water isn’t enough on it’s own.
Fern (@Ferns_) is doing an #fwocrew workout tracking week this week. My goal is three. And I’ve only got until Sunday to fit them in. It sounds easy, and it probably should be, but I have a feeling it’s going to be tough to set aside the time. Usually I have some time in the mornings. The boys are often up though, and constantly in need of something (milk, apple, cartoons). It’s difficult to get into a good rhythm when you are constantly being interrupted.
So I have a lot of mini-goals as I try to tackle this weight. But until I can get the water and exercise into a more consistent pattern I don’t want to add too much more. Eventually I want to get back to calorie counting and maybe look at a step counter. Since my last one broke a replacement hasn’t been in the cards. That may end up on the Christmas list.
I just can’t keep this slow creep upwards in weight. My clothes are getting a bit too tight for comfort and my lack of energy is really getting to me. And, as much as I would love to blame my husband’s low sex drive solely on him; it’s not like I’ve been making a good effort either. I don’t expect that losing twenty pounds will suddenly make him want to sleep with me again. But taking care of myself is my best shot to stay in a good place for him.
The next few months will be a bit rough. But I need to do this for me as much as for my family, Dom, lover, and all those who care about me. I deserve to be healthy; even if I have to be my own worst enemy to do it.*
*There is nothing wrong with being healthy. I don’t mean to make it sound like it’s some great hardship. I just have an unnatural love of mayonnaise, ranch dressing, and fried foods. It’s more learning how to deny myself, which, as a self-spoiled little, it no easy task.