April 2011


Or buns.  Or glutius maximus.  Or, my personal favorite, the rump-a-saurus.

Sidenote:  I add “-saurus’ to the end of any body part name.  It’s some weird quirk carried over from, well, when I was even quirkier I guess.  Drives Tony nuts when I ask him to move his leg-a-saurus.  We have yet to figure out why my brain wants to add the weird ending, but maybe I’m just fond of dinosaurs.

So, anyway, you know how I like to tell you guys about when I start up an exercise regimen?  Like, you might recall my time spent “running” last summer, which ended up not lasting long because…Surprise!  I hate running! (And you’re bona-fide freaks if you like it, I don’t even care if I offend you when I say that…yeah I’m looking at you extended family…)

Anyway – I have a new addiction.  And it’s called “exercise class.”

Think I’m lame?  It’s cool because I totally think I’m lame, too.

Here’s how this went down, though.

Back in the beginning of April there was a girl named Katie who could be found standing on her scale one lovely morning (ok, actually, probably snowy morning, but…details, pfft…).  A look of frustration crosses her face as she realizes the scale must be broken.  Because surely she was not 6 pounds heavier than what the doctor’s office scale said she was…4 months prior. 

But, alas, Katie realized the scale was right.  And the bag of chips that saw her through many commercials of American Idol had to go.  Or at least, be cut back on.

Here’s where I go back to first-person narrative, because this 3rd person stuff is getting obnoxious.  Carrying on…

After coming to realize the couch had a permanent indention where my butt was used to sitting, I finally took a little action.  I decided to keep a food journal.

Let me make something clear right off the bat.  I did not start a diet.  I’m a skinny girl.  I don’t need to lose weight, nor am I trying to lose weight.  I just need to…tone up a bit.  I used to spend summers being active:  hackey sacking, swimming, skipping around town.  Then adulthood hit and the amount of time spent sitting at a deskjob could probably be scientifically proven to have a direct correlation to the amount of cellulite a person can put on in a year. 

The food journal was mainly so I could get a clear picture of what, and even more specifically, how I was eating.  That communal candy jar at work painted quite the vivid picture for me.  I’m a snacker, through and through.

I also wanted to start keeping track of how much water I was consuming.  I had a pretty good inkling that I was not getting enough water throughout the day.  Do you know that it’s recommended people drink half their body weight in ounces a day?  Do you know how hard that is?  That’s almost 2 Nalgene bottles full for me. 

And do you know what?  This food journal thing is working.  I’ve started to really keep track of what a true serving of something is.  There might have been a few tears shed over how small servings actually are, but…

I’m also drinking so much more water.  My body is less swollen, my skin feels more hydrated, and…well, I have to pee a whole lot more, but I hear that passes eventually as your body gets used to having more water. 

Sure, there are some days I cheat.  I also don’t deny myself a craving.  But I do tend to check myself before reaching for the eight Snickers bar at work, because, damnit, I’d have to write that in the food journal if I did.

Along with being more conscious of my food intake is my newly ambitious desire to exercise.  I’ve done Pilates for a long time now on my own and swear by it’s awesome effect on my abs and butt.  But I’ve always sort of chickened out when it came to joining a class.  A coworker of mine joined the Y not long ago and has been gung-ho about trying out all these crazy classes with me.  Pilates was pretty hilarious, but it was nice to have a friend laughing along with me as we tried to come to a sitting position with both legs spread.

I’ve also done kickboxing and we’re planning to do zumba next week.  Coupled with doing the Shred at home, I found the scale has been much friendlier these days. 

It’s been a good month for me, is basically what it boils down to.  Bikini season doesn’t look quite so scary and I’m finding I feel so much better than when icecream was my main food group.  And, shhh, don’t tell, but it’s even got me cooking a bit more, as I’m testing out healthy recipes I find online.  I don’t want anyone getting the idea the kitchen and I are patching up old bygones, though.  We still agree to hold a reasonable degree of animosity paired with strong indifference towards each other.  No worries.

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It’s no big shocker that I’ve got babies on the brain.  (Warned you with the title, didn’t I?)

Ever since I can remember I knew I was meant to be a mom.  Ask my poor little brother Kyle who was subject to dress up maybe a few too many times.  Don’t ask him about how I mistakenly filled in his eyebrows with mascara though.  He might have already blocked out that special experience from childhood, or at least that’s what I’m banking on, because he seems to have turned into a fairly functional human being.  No harm, no foul.  Good words to live by when remembering embarrassing childhood memories.

You can also ask Tony, who will probably tell you I talk about babies every day of the week for 24 hours a day.  No rest on Sundays.  And he’s totally wrong, because I DO sleep somewhere in there, so knock off about 7 hours from his estimate and he’s probably pretty close.  Dreaming about pre-shus baybays doesn’t count, right? 

What the heck is up with me?  My biological clock would apologize if it weren’t so  busy annoying the piss out of my husband by wanting to talk baby names.  Like now.  Right now.

I need to get a grip. 

I suppose I should let you in on the fact that we’ll probably start trying sometime in the next year.  It almost feels…uncomfortable…admitting that.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe because in today’s society everybody is so secretive and sensitive when it comes to having babies.  And while I recognize the reasons behind it, I feel like…what’s the big deal?  So the whole internet knows we’re hoping to have a kid sometime in the near-er future.  You all can keep a secret, right?

After talking to my gynecologist (and yeah I used the ‘g’ word, but if you’ve made it this far into this blog post, I’m going to go ahead and assume you aren’t of the male-persuasion anyway and can handle any mention of the gynecologist without a giggle) I was told I should go ahead and start taking prenatal vitamins.  Get that womb good and comfy!

(Sidenote: My gynecologist is seriously hot.  Like. Ouch hot.  And while I’m all for hot doctors (ahem…McDreamy, ya’ll?), I maybe might prefer it’s my dermatologist.  Or dentist.  But no.  Had to be the gyno.)

So because I’m sure I’ve made you all good and uncomfortable with all this baby talk, I figure I should lighten it up and talk about my fun liquid vitamin experience. 

My very good friend Maggie just had a beautiful baby girl, Indigo, whom I adore not only because she’s pretty much the cutest little thing you’ll ever lay your peepers on, but also because Maggie and I both decided she’s like a baby genius or something.  And I promise we didn’t let our bias influence that conclusion.  Not only do I love getting to see Maggie and her wee babe because it’s fun to hang out and catch up, but it’s also nice to have another person who loves to talk about babies as much as I do.  (Although her natural childbirth stories aren’t exactly a convincing sell on the fun of going without drugs.  I’ve already scheduled the epidural.  And I’m not pregnant, yet.  Sorry Maggie.)

So, Maggie is very much into taking care of herself and is a great resource regarding all things natural.  This girl also knows her herbs.  When she heard I was taking Flinstones vitamins, I thought her eyes would bug out.  I know, I know.  I can’t swallow pills though.  Especially the horse pills that are disguised as prenatal vitamins.  Geez-us.

She left my house last with the assurance that she would contact me soon with a good liquid vitamin.  She just needed to do a little research.  So fast forward a few days and I get a voicemail from her with a liquid vitamin she found and I could check it out at Amazon.

So I went and checked it out.  It had good reviews (isn’t Amazon the best?) and I placed the order.  (Which still feels strange because I’m not even preggers yet.  Even talking about it seems taboo or something).

Anyhow, it came in the mail the other day and I immediately opened it and took a sniff.  Hmm.  Not too bad.  A little tutti-frutti smelling.  The little grainy things that looked like sand were a bit off-putting, but ah heck…down the hatch…

Homework assignment time.  Think of the most vile thing you’ve ever eaten.  The item of food you put in your mouth and after two seconds your brain all of a sudden realizes something doesn’t seem right.  That food.  This vitamin is sort of like that.  At first I thought I was being punk’d.  How could something so yummy smelling taste so horribly wrong?  Then I started flapping my arms dramatically.  Somehow moving your limbs around like a spaz helps the liquid get down the esophagus.  It’s a scientific fact.  Tony witnessed the whole dramatic commotion with a mixture of bemusement and confusion.  I just looked up at the ceiling (which I guess is where I assume my unborn babies reside right now?…while waiting or something?) and snarled. 

Yeah I said it.  I snarled at my future, unborn babies.  Because liquid prenatal vitamins are a thing of awful wretchedness. 

So that’s my story.  I guess it’s not that funny, save the fact that you can laugh at me everyday around 7 pm as I’m trying to choke down some gross liquid that turns my pee neon yellow.  Can you even think of a more fun side effect?  I can’t!

Be thankful I’m a nice girl.  Because the mean side of me was about to pull a big April Fool’s joke on you by letting you believe I’m pregnant.  Here’s how it would have played out:  You would have seen the title of this post, clicked through and then when I got you all excited and daydreaming about cute baby clothes, I’d hit you with the one-two and yell APRIL FOOL’S!  Because even at 27 I can still act like I’m 9. 

But yeah…nope, nope, nope.  Not pregnant yet.  But going by my dreams, you’d think my biological clock was set at Mach 3.  That breaks the sound barrier, people.  We’re not joking around here. 

Tony is huddled and rocking in the corner because:

Biological clock talk = Gaaah! Head for the hills!  No time to stop for snacks or video games.  She’s coming for me and she’ll be talking about baaaabies!

It might be a slight exaggeration.  But.  Not really.

Anyway, the real purpose of this post is to tell you what a mean April Fool’s player I am.  Ask me how many times I’ve done the rubberband around the sink-water-squirter.  Really.  Ask me.  Tony probably knows exactly how many times, actually.

And because the whole “I’m pregnant! Nope, April Fools!” gets old, I decided it’d be funnier to pull a different prank on him.  So when he gets home tonight, I’m going to convince him that there’s a tsunami heading our way from Lake Michigan and we better head for higher ground.  If I work it just right, I might actually convince him that this tsunami, caused by an earthquake in Ohio of course, is coming straight for us.  Wish me luck.

What pranks have you pulled today?  Lay ’em on me!

Post-Publish Note: Whoa…totally didn’t mean to make light of tsunamis.  Didn’t even think of how insensitive it might be, what with the situation in Japan and all.  It was merely the ridiculousness of any type of disaster of that magnitude happening from the Great Lakes that was supposed to be funny about it.  Sorry for my poor taste 😦  Oops!