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August 13, 2008

Trimming the Fat


One thing about my family, they keep it real. Really, real. Like almost too real. Which brings me to my weight issue. You see, for the most part, I've always been a pretty slim chick, but we all know that there's something about hitting 30 that tends to make your metabolism slow down a bit. Honey, those Ho-Ho's and Krispy Kreme Donuts start sticking to places you would've never imagined in your 20s. So needless to say, after 30 I started to notice a little bit of a pudge blossoming on my waistline. And my mother noticed too. She told me over and over and over again. "Oh, you've gotta start working out, baby girl. And niki, please hold in your stomach. It's most important. You have to train those muscles!!"

Then I got married and got pregnant a few months later and well, after eating Chipotle's burrito bowl just about every other day (along with a whole slew of other tasty treats), I gained a full 60 pounds during my pregnancy. I could barely even believe it when the scale read 200 pounds in my ninth month. 200 pounds? Little skinny ol' me? But it was true. And if you'd gone months without seeing me I'm pretty sure I was hardly recognizable.

After giving birth to my son (who was pretty hefty his daggone self at nine pounds, eight ounces!) I was still jiggly in a bunch of places. I nursed so that helped shed some of the weight, but I still wasn't looking like my old self. In fact, my Pop told me one day that he didn't think I'd ever be thin again. Or, you know, something along those lines. Then after a year or so of still being a little weighty after my son was born, my grandmother chimed in and said, "Now you know you need to lose that weight! You've got a good looking husband and you best believe that other women are looking at him too."

Words from the wise.

And that super fine specimen of a husband my grandmother was talking about? Well, he had pretty much given up all hope that I'd ever be that super slim tenderoni that he fell in love with ten years ago. I can't blame these wonderfully honest folks in my life. I know I've grown to be a big girl over the past few years. Well, big-ger anyway. I'm about a size 10 which to some may seem not-so-big, but compared to the size I was four, five years ago, I'm huge.

It's not just family that's noticing I'm size-y either. I've had several people ask me if I'm pregnant and "oh, how many months are you?" This guy that works the security gate at my job even asked me one afternoon, "Boy or girl?" I replied, "boy" thinking that he was referring to the carseat in the back of my car, but after he said, "Oh, congratulations!" I realized that he must've thought I was pregnant because really, who the heck says congratulations for the kid you already have?

So it's about time that I quit complaining to myself (and to my husband) about my jelly belly and how I can't fit into any of my clothes and how ridiculous it would be to even attempt to get my belly ring back in and how geez louise, Beyonce's waist is so cute and I'd really love a pair of skinny jeans but I'm afraid that my muffin will splatter all over the top of it.

It's time for me to jump into action! To actually use the yoga ball and mat I bought six years ago, but have never put to use. To actually jump with the jump rope that I've jumped with ummmmmmm... maybe three times since I bought it back in 2003. To break the Brazilian workout DVD out of the plastic and actually take a looksy at it. And maybe sign up for that really cool Zumba class because I have no excuse since the classes are only five bucks a pop and they're held pretty darn close to my house. Time to start saying no to Minute Maid's Tropical Fruit Punch and the vast array of candy that my husband brings home almost daily.

Darn it, it's time to trim the fat and get my sexy back!! Anybody with me on this?

niki d. has got her workout gear on and she's ready to stretch over at mama's got moxie.


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