Time For A Change

One of my goals for this maternity leave, you know, besides the TRY NOT TO LOSE MY SHIT WITH THIS BABY LIKE I DID WITH THE LAST ONE, was to go through our external hard drive that has all (read: a gazillon) of our pictures that we've taken in the last few years.  Because once we invested in a digital camera, we stopped developing the pictures that we took and just saving them.  That, of course, means that there are few hard copies of photos.  And honestly, I would like to have those "old fashioned" photo albums hanging around the house.  It just seems more tangible than pulling them up on the computer.  It's been my dream to go through these photos and pick out the best and have them developed for an album.  However... HOLY SUGAR BALLS.  There are so many photos that I'm completely overwhelmed.  Just looking through them was exhausting.  I don't know where to begin.  

Besides the photo albums, I'd also like to have some pictures of sweet moments we've captured of our new family blown up and framed for the wall in our kitchen.  So, as I was looking for those pictures and getting a little teary-eyed at what the last 18 months have brought to my life... I started noticing something that, honestly, shouldn't have taken me this long to really notice.

To really understand.

TO REALLY BE MORTIFIED BY. 

There's nothing quite like realizing you're FAT AS HELL and it's been captured on film for posterity.

I mean, I knew that I was big... I knew that the baby fat wasn't going to come off as fast with the second baby... I knew that I was really taking advantage of the "I'm eating for two" argument while pregnant... I knew that I was eating way too much junk food before, during and after the pregnancy.

What I don't know, really... is why.  I don't know why I didn't notice it.  I don't know why I thought that if I just got my hair colored, or new makeup, or a new pair of shoes, then I would look good.  I don't know why I excused my lack of fitness and my excess of fat by assuring myself that because I am tall, I could TOTALLY pull it off.

Because I can't.  And even if I could... is that really okay?  Is that what my life should be?  Faking it?

So, the pictures I found today were understandably distressing.  Especially when I also saw pictures from when I was training for triathlons and you could bounce a quarter off my butt.  (True story).  Now... well, that quarter would probably get lost in a fat roll.  (Also, sadly, a true story).  So, anyway, while the camera adds 10 pounds, it certainly doesn't lie.  Even I, the Queen of Denial, couldn't overlook the simple fact that I am fat.  F. A. T.

I didn't know the fat lady in the photos with my husband and daughters.  And it hit me right then... besides the fact that I have seriously abused my body for the last two years in which I've eaten my body weight in chocolate, I don't want my daughters to know me as a fat Mommy. I don't want my husband to be married to the fat chick.  I want to be that Mom that runs and plays with her kids and one who sets a good example for her daughters for body image and self-confidence.  I want to be the skinny one between me and Benny.  I don't want to be the mom with the second and third chins and the serious spare tire in front.  And the thing is, I KNOW I'm not that person. But it took looking at those photos to snap me out of my coma.

So, it's do or die time.  I am meeting with a personal trainer tomorrow morning.  He's pretty hard core and I know I'll see results.  It's going to hurt.  Physically, emotionally and mentally.  And that's not even factoring in my pride.  See, this trainer knew me when I was a college athlete.  So, he knows A) What my body used to look like and B) What I'm capable of.  It's going to be humiliating to have to fully admit just how far the mighty have fallen.  Please, God... don't let him take measurements.  I don't EVEN want to know.

I'm excited for the journey, though.  I know that it's going to make me a better Mommy, wife and friend.  And when things get rough and I consider bagging a workout, I'm going to pull up those damn photos.  In fact, I may just put them up on the fridge right now as a reminder.

I'm all in. It. Is. So. Oneth.  I will be updating you on my progress.  And my aches and pains.  There will be laughter. There will be tears.  THERE WILL BE BLOOD.

It's either spend the money, sweat, blood and tears on getting back to where I should be.  Or it's spend the money on a new, bigger wardrobe and have years of feeling sorry for myself and knowing that I'm better than this. I've got big plans for myself.

And for my family. 

And my future photos.