Snaggle Toes

We made it to the YMCA this morning.

In the car on the way over I tried to rehearse what I was going to say if the nursery ladies asked why we hadn't been there in so long.

Specifically since sometime before Thanksgiving.

I spun some really elaborate tales, but to my dismay no one asked.  They just took my baby and shooed me away. 

The ugly truth is we've been holed up in Ft. Henry.  Eating Cheese Its and watching bad TV.

I did my little jog/walk interval workout until I got bored.  Which took 10 minutes.  Then I went to the window to check on Henry.  He was playing and charming some lady.  As usual. 

Darn, I can't use him as an excuse to leave. 

So then I got on the Elliptical.  Until I got bored.  So that was like another 10 minutes.

Checked on Henry...still good.  Sitting in a bouncer, trying to ward off a fellow inmate who was currently wiping all of her baby goo on him.  I told myself it was fine.  We were just building up his immune system.

So then I pretended to lift some weights for about 5 minutes.

Then I did some crunches on the balance ball. 

That had to be at least 30 minutes, right?

So I went to the locker room and there it was.

The Scale.

Scales don't bother me.  I just wish they were all calibrated the same so I could get some kind of consistent answer to the question, "How fat am I today?"

The scale at the doctor's office was always 4 pounds heavier than our scale at home.  Not cool.

This is the same scale that very rudely informed me I had gained 11 pounds in one month when I was pregnant.

I am convinced that Satan took a vacation from Hell and somehow possessed that scale, and so I consider its readings invalid. 

Just like I am convinced that the nurse operating the scale went to school somewhere in the Caribbean and was not properly trained in how to take an accurate weight.  I know she was always in a hurry but she played it a little too fast and loose with the little nobby.

She would just haphazardly knock it up with her knuckle.  Definitely not taking the time and concentration required to get the little floaty thing exactly in the middle.  So I am convinced she was consistently 5 pounds off.  Bitch. 

I always had to bite my tongue,

"Hey, Hey, Hey, Nudgey.  Let's slow down and focus on the task at hand.  I know someone is like crowning or something in the other room, but this is important.  Every pound you record in that little chart is one less whole pizza I can rationalize eating by myself."

So the scale at the gym was 3.5 pounds less than our scale at home.  Sweet Jesus, how I wish it were true.

So I guess I'm going to use our scale at home as the official authority. 

Shield your eyes, what I am about to do is for me.  Not you.

Try to overlook the hideous, chipped polish snaggle toes.

I am getting a pedicure soon (which is a great segue into a post I want to do about 'Things to do before you go into labor').

We are going to Florida April 9th and I would love for that number to be 145. 

Or at least for that number to be 145 on the scale at the Y.  I would take that as well. 

This is 'Operation Try not to Scare Away Small Children at the Beach.'

OTSASCB.  It doesn't really roll off the tongue.

So now that you all know the number.  You are officially my best friends and allowed to ridicule, harass and insult me into reaching my goal weight.

Between your hurled insults I would appreciate any weight loss tips or tricks you have.  It's the least you can do...

I showed you the number.



P.S. I debated on showing you the number, But then whenever I referred to OTSASCB I would always have to be really mysterious, and just talk in terms of general pounds up or down, and for some reason I find that annoying.  I owe you more than that.  Besides hiding the number from you doesn't make my ass look any less fat. So maybe by laying it all out on the line I can garner some support.  Or pity.  I will except either.

Hopefully, weekly updates will follow.  Unless I gain and then I will be too ashamed to post it.

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