I’m not over weight or morbidly obese or freakishly huge. I’m not fat enough that I need an intervention special on The Dr. Phil Show where he dramatically has a crane break through my ceiling and hoist me out of my bed prison. I am not the size of a manatee. What I am is Mom Fat.
Here’s the deal. I used to be tiny and could go into any store and pick up a size small or medium and it would fit and I would buy it and life would be awesome. Since having my three children, it’s rare I can find anything that doesn’t cling to my Mom Fat and make me feel like a freak’n hippo. Don’t feel sad for me and my pudge. I see those fit moms out there, pounding the pavement, fiercely jogging while effortlessly pushing their infants along in their snazzy strollers. There is no reason why I couldn’t be all fit and toned like them. The only difference between me and them is that they have motivation and I have excuses.
I know if I want to bid adieu to my Mom Fat, I need to move more and eat less. It’s ridiculously simple. The problem is that I love a good sit. There really is nothing better than zoning out, all cozy and sedentary. And you can’t enjoy a good sit without a good snack. I try to eat lots of fruits and veggies, but I love chocolate and ice cream and cookies and beer so much. Why is life so hard?
Lately I’ve noticed that the media wants me to love my body and embrace my Mom Fatness. I’m trying, but it’s hard when that same encouraging media is also bombarding me with stick thin waifs that are supposed to be a direct representation of myself. The media is a real hypocritical douche bag sometimes.
Life is about doing things that scare you. I love to write, but doing it publicly makes me want to barf. This blog makes me queasy. Thinking about doing exercise pretty much makes me dry heave. My Mom Fat sucks, so I really should do something about it before Dr. Phil and his crane come knocking on my door.
It’s time to go from Mom Fat to Mom PHAT!
Just let me finish off this Easter chocolate over here first…