Weight loss program

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 20:59:40 GMT

MILESTONE!

25 POUNDS TODAY!

This is pretty frakkin' cool! The thing is, I decided about a week ago that I was no longer going to concentrate on the scale aspect of my program. My scale had been suck at 153lbs for over a week and so I had to break things down into perspective.

In the course of 8 weeks I lost 22 pounds.

Pretty frakkin' amazing if you ask me.

I went from 175lbs to 153lbs, dropped two dress sizes.

Damn good.

So I started focusing on the toning part of my regime.

For nearly two weeks now I've been walking, putting in somewhere between 15 to 18 miles a week. Then I kicked up the pilates program...toning, stretching, flexing, feeling good....ooooommmmm. This morning when I was getting dressed my jeans felt much, much looser. Curious, I got on the scale. 150!

Wowza!

Needless to say, I feel good. The lady I walk with invited me to her gym for this "bootcamp" style workout today. I went...I LOVED IT! Two good looking, built and buff dudes pushing you to the limits...oh yeah! I sweated like I've never sweated before...my ass cheeks hurt...I probably won't be able to walk tomorrow. I signed a membership.

I can't wait for these new clothes I ordered in a size 10 to arrive. I'm working on getting into an 8, but for now...10 IS GREAT!

Some days I wish I was born without ovaries. I do. I really, really do. I will not lie about that. Some days I just do not desire to be any ones mother. At times, I really dislike my kids...I don't care how cute they are. I don't feel bad saying that because I know I'm not the only one that feels that way. When you spend one day changing 8 shitty diapers...again, IN ONE DAY...you really start to wonder just what the hell you were thinking when you agreed to allow your body to be invaded and your life taken over. When there is no peace...everyone is crying...the teenagers are being snarky...the 1 year old is demanding to be held, and the 3 three year old has Crayola'd your wall...you really questions your ability to make logical, reasonable, rational decisions, because the decision to do thing was bust!

Those are only some days.

This is Abigail, December of 2006. It took three years to conceive her. I had to have tubal-reversal, and they were only able to untie one tube. Three years...we had basically given up. Then on January 2, 2006 I realized that what I believed to be mild food poisoning...maybe not so much. A quick trip to Walgreen's soon revealed the truth...I was 6 weeks pregnant. I was ecstatic. Miguel...well...Miguel was dazed and confused. He has talked of a baby...whined about having a baby...dreamed of a baby...but to find out I was actually pregnant and we were having an actual BABY...stunned.

I immediately set to name her Abigail. He wasn't fond of the name, but I was determined. In Hebrew is means "father's joy." Talk about a child that lives up to her name. She is THE apple of his eye. She adores him and he thinks she created the universe. A match made in heaven.

Here she is about a week before her baby sister, Sofia, was born, almost 2. She's intelligent beyond comprehension and loving to a fault. But there are days when she just drives me batty.

But then, like today, she is an absolute joy. I decided that tonight would be a "Mommy and Abigail" night. I left the baby and the teenagers (I have two teenage girls) at home with the Poppa and she and I went out. I took her to McD's were we snarfed on fattening processed beef and deep fried, greasy fries. Then we frolicked in the playroom for hours on end. We then packed into the truck and drove across the street to the theatre where we enjoyed Raisinettes, Sour Patch Kids, fresh cheddar popcorn, and syrupy coke while we watched "Kong Fu Panda." She had a blast, laughed her little behind off she did. All I could do was look at her tiny face, all lit up from the light of the projection, her eyes rapidly following every movement, watched as she laughed at the appropriate times and think "damn, just how lucky am I to have her?" Yeah...I love this kid.

Meet Sofia...born July 12, 2007. She will be a year old in a few weeks. Anyone who knows me knows that after my 13 year old was born, I never had any intentions of EVER bearing kids again. Hence...the tubal-ligation! Having a child after Abigail was never even a consideration. I was more than pissed off the day I found out I was pregnant, in fact, I specifically asked the doctors, "Are you sure it's not a tumor? Fibroid tumors and a hysterectomy are perfectly acceptable at this stage." The doctor quipped that tumors don't have heartbeats. Bastard...had to throw the heartbeat part in there didn't he? Well, I quickly got over being mad...like, within an hour...and got totally excited. Immediately her name became Sofia. It was one of the suggested names Miguel had thrown out when he attempted to argue with me over Abby's name. I liked it...but I wanted the Italian spelling, "Sophia." Spelling became an issue and so we reverted back to Abigail. Well, my mother told me to let go of the reins and give the man the "f**king f" and spell it the way he wants it. I told her giving him the "f**cking f" is what got me in this situation! She wasn't amused.

When Sofia was born...two things were said...first the doctors, "Oh my god! Look at the size of that big toe!" Literally, it's a thumb. Poseable and all. I remember looking at her skin color as they took her over to be weighed. Now...all my kids, even my eldest who is now darker then me, were born white...very, very pale. Over time, they darkened some, not much. Even Abby is starting to darken. I've never had a child born with melanin. I looked at her and turned to Miguel and said, "It's a little negro!" Actually, if she was a crayola her color name would be "Beaner Brown." Sofia is a happy, happy baby. Always laughing, playing, hugging. She is learning to speaking more words beyond "mama" and "poppa." We've moved on to "no", "peek-boo", "bye-bye", and "hi." She crawls everywhere and is pulling herself up. She eats like a horse and adores her "mama." Maybe a little to much...not much time for peace when someone adores you.

After Sofia was born Miguel was nipped and tucked. I've often wondered if this was a wise decision, but I know it was for the best. Neither my body, mind, soul, nor mental health could handle another child. Yet sometimes I look around and I see an expectant mother or a new mom with her fresh, new bundle of joy and I get jealous. However, I am very, very thankful for this face right here. I mean, how can you NOT want to eat it up?

I ADORE these two. If I were actually ever given the choice of a life with or without them...well, I would never even contemplate it. I can't imagine them NOT being here. I live, breathe, eat, and sleep Abigail and Sofia. But some days...

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