This is Why I Hate Weight Watchers

Shut up.  I can hear you snorting and rolling your eyes.  I'm not quiting.  Gawd.  Haters be hatin'.

I'm down 4 pounds.  I'm tracking my foods online and assigning point values to everything.  It's working.

However, I do hate that so much of my consciousness revolves around food.  I'm not hungry and I'm not hording points like before--but still.  Food is on my mind. 

I like life better when it's not.

I suppose I'll eventually fall into a food rut where I just eat the same crap all the time (salad anyone?) and I'll stop staring at my cabinets muttering mathematical formulas.  But then I'm scared that I'll be that girl who knows the points value of everything and blurts it out over dinner with friends.  Fat Girl Tourettes, if you will.

Shit, that Ranch Dressing is 5 points! 

I'm doing the program all online, which is awesome because those meetings suck hard.  I don't need to go sit in a room with inspirational bulletin boards and listen to a group sigh about the temptation of cake, while The Leader warns us all to measure our pasta!  Don't eye ball it!  Doom!  Woe!  Evil spaghetti!

But I am confused by certain things:  Am I supposed to eat all of my points?  Why does the recipe builder give wrong point vales?  Why is a McDonald's Fruit & Walnut Salad 6 points when fruit is free?  And how much free fruit is too much--I'm not going to lose if I gag down 2 pounds of fruit, right?  So I checked out the message boards...

Oh. My. Gawd.  The rudeness and snark on that board drove me away...and I'm a Mommy Blogger.  Am I the only one who finds it hilarious that Weight Watchers has a group of Evil Skanks Mean Girls?  And they sit there all day jumping on threads and ganging up on newbies and telling them how to lose weight?  

(Nevermind that they are still fat.  Ignore that man behind the curtain!) 

I hate message boards.  It doesn't matter what the topic is (TV Without Pity, Baby Center, The Bump) hordes of Super Geeks swarm the site and take it over.  Then I feel stabby (and retarded) for getting all worked up about XtremeDietrz snark on Chubbybunny's breakfast muffin question.

Note to self:  AVOID MESSAGE BOARDS.  CONTINUE DIET IN INTERNET BUBBLE.

My Weight

I wasn't going to write about weight issues, but after re-reading last January's Pregnancy Weight Gain Freak Out, I'm going for it.  I'm notorious for over-sharing.  Why stop now? 

When I delivered Elodie I sat on a number that would make a NFL linebacker blush.  I dropped 35 pounds with breastfeeding and Nutrisystem.  Now I'm 30 pounds away from a number that doesn't make me wince--and that is still in the Overweight Category.

I let myself go after Elizabeth--I can admit it now--and I'm so mad at myself for wasting 5 years pretending my weight was okay!  It wasn't okay.  I wasn't happy as the chubby mom.  I hated entire sections of my body.  

And yet I did nothing.  I shifted my focus off me and put it on my baby.  My house.  My role as a SAHM. Sure, I tried a few diets and signed up for a few gym memberships, but they always failed the first time I ran into a problem (usually money) and I'd quit.  I was resigned with Plus Size. 

Then--The Disaster slapped me out of it.

This is silly, but...you know one of the first things I did after D-day?  I threw out my penny pinching, budget pleasing Cover Girl and walked my ass back to the Clinique counter.  I'd be damned if I was going down in cheap foundation!  And I tossed a bottle of my favorite Channel in there, too.  I bought all the stuff I wore before marriage and debt and motherhood--and from that point my Me Switch flipped back on.

Thank God.

When I lost 15 pounds from grief and insomnia, I was blown away.  I remember looking at the scale and feeling the handful of denim sagging off my butt and thinking, stunned, "I can lose weight?  I'm capable of losing this weight?"  And I felt hopeful about my body for the first time in years.

Then I got pregnant.

Anyway.  Elodie is 8 months old...home life has calmed down...and my switch is on.  I want to lose weight.  I'm aching to lose weight. 

I will lose weight. 

Drop It Like It's Hawt

...like the negative self-talk.  I'm proud to say that I'm not spiraling into self-hatred and beating myself up over things. 

Example:  there's a group of neighborhood moms that I just can't break into.  I've given it my best for 3 years and I'm "accepted" up until a certain point.  (I can hang out but I'm not eating Family BBQ on Sundays, know what I mean?)  It's frustrated me and I don't know how many times I've invited, planned things, reached out...and then wasted valuable kid-free time venting to Kevin about how these-people-should-LOVE-ME-damn-it! while he rolls his eyes and says, "Jaci, why do you care?" and I whine, "I don't knooooow.  What's wrong with me?!?  Hold me."

Then?  A new mom moved in and I tried to be-friend her because gawd I've been there and within 2 months she's at the center of the clique, swapping recipes and Mommy Angst.  WTF UNIVERSE?!?!  I started to go into my 7th Grade Shame Spiral, but then I snapped out of it. 

So I'm not in the local chapter of SAHM's R Us?  Their loss.  I have more important things to deal with. 

~~~~~~~~

I dropped a few pounds with the new Weight Watchers.  I loathed WW with a hatred beyond reason because the old program made me feel like Scrooge McDuck hoarding food points.

But with free fruits and vegetables?  I can relax and step away from the Points Calculator and stop thinking about food and ohshitIonlyhave3pointsleftwhatcanIeatwiththat? screw it, I'm eating this cupcake.  Ooops.  I mean, those 6 cupcakes, half a bag of stale Fritos, and a cheese stick.

Bonus! the food I eat doesn't look like dog food.  Or cost $300 per month.  *stink eye* Nutrisystem.

The Mad Housewife Society: Live. Laugh. Pull Your Hair Out.

Today's post is from  Momma H at Live. Laugh. Pull Your Hair Out.  Kevin and I ditched our prenatal classes.  All we did was giggle inappropriately and annoy the other serious couples. 

Did I ever tell you about my husband passing out at our prenatal class?

I was pregnant with our first child and excitedly we signed up for the weekend classes so we could learn all about the birthing process, medical options and newborn care.

We were your typical young couple doing all of the "stuff" that new parents should do before welcoming their perfect new baby into the world.

We had to have a tour of the birthing unit so we were sure that this hospital would provide exceptional care to our new child and us.
We had to know our birthing options just in case I decided to be a hero and go epidural-free.
We had to learn what exactly happens during labour.

Why, I am not sure. I mean, when you feel pain, you know it must be a contraction. When you feel like you have to push, then push.

Or just do what the doctors and nurses tell you to do.

But anyways, our lovely instructor was explaining birth using a doll and a toque (winter hat for you Americans)."The baby's head pushes its way through the birth canal....."
"The cervix stretches....."
"The placenta passes down through your vagina....."

Hubby turned green and said he was going to the washroom.
He got up.
Walked to the door.
And fell flat to the floor.  Honest.  He really did.
Flat out......

Out cold.....

 

 

I was horrified and embarrassed.
He thought he had just witnessed some sort of horror movie.

He never went to another prenatal class.
But was at each birth.
Watching the entire birth.
Holding my legs as I pushed...and pushed.
Cutting the cord after the baby was born.

And he still wants to have sex.

 

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Surviving Colic : From a Mom Who's Been There. Twice.

I enjoy babies.  They are fun and adorable and so blissfully happy with their own soggy sock.

Nature's perfect optimists. 

Mom, stop tweaking out.  I'm done screaming.  I swearz.

Sometimes I wonder how different my stint with motherhood would be if I hadn't had two colicky newborns.  If I hadn't paced the floor from 5 until midnight with swaddled babies out of their minds with pain; wild-eyed, clawing.  If weeks of screaming hadn't turned me into an anxious, neurotic mess that overreacts to every whimper.  If it didn't take 8 months (and medication) to get me to drop my shoulders and get comfortable again.

Colic made me feel like I got ripped off in the delivery room.  Everyone else went home with a sleepy, cuddly lump while I spawned a screaming Banshee.  Combine that with crashing hormones and you've got one hot mess.

If you're dealing with it...here are a few tips from a seasoned Mom:

• IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT  Don't look back over your pregnancy and try to pin this on that one time you ate sushi.  Or the chocolate cake you ate last night that *may* be in your breast milk.  You didn't cause this!  Stop beating yourself up!
• IT'S NOT THE BABY'S FAULT  After a few nights of screaming, it's easy to blow up and say, "There's nothing wrong with her!" and your mind starts to turn the baby into some evil creature who cries just to destroy you.  DEEP BREATH!  It's not personal.  I promise you, your baby doesn't hate you and she isn't doing this just for attention.  When you start to feel resentful, it's time to hand her over to someone else and take a break.
• THERE'S ONLY SO MUCH YOU CAN DO  The most heart-breaking part of this?  Your precious baby is in pain--it's all over her face and in her voice--and you can't stop it.  Swaddle her arms to keep her from clawing you (and herself) and just hold her close.  Jiggle her.  Rock her.  Run the vacuum cleaner for white noise.  (You'll figure out the perfect combo for your baby.)  And stay calm.  It will end by midnight or 1 am. 
• GET HELP  You need as many arms as you can get, because that 5-11 shift comes every night whether you are ready or not.  Ask your parents, sister, friends...seriously, get a list of people and use them.  This isn't the time to be Super Mom.  Let someone else hold the baby, and you?  Go some place where you won't hear the screaming.  I know it's hard because it's your newborn and you're in Protective Mama Bear Hormone Crisis, but has your pacing and hand-wringing helped any other night?  Umm...no.  GO.  And fight back those psycho "No one can hold her like me--eek, they're going to do something wrong!!!" feelings.  It's all hormones and exhaustion, not reality.    

And remember, other women have been there.  You're not alone.  And your baby will turn into an optimistic lump who coos and grins and melts your heart--with no screaming. 

I promise.

What Would Betty Draper Think of Mommy Bloggers?

Ah, good ol' Birdie.  The character I want to hug and then smack upside the head.

I'm addicted to Mad Men DVDs.  It's all I watch despite Kevin's eye rolls and heaving sighs and complaints of "There's no one to like on this show! They're all bad!"  I know, Kevin.  That's the beauty of it.  That's why my black, soul-less heart loves it so.

In case you haven't watched the show (really?) Betty Draper is an early 60's housewife/trophy wife/miserable woman.  She's naive and childish and I feel sorry for her--but also?  She's kind of a bitch.  Queen of the Stink Eye.

I wonder what Betty would think of my blog, or any Mommy Blog where women spill their guts about loneliness...motherhood...marriage...spanx...  I'm pretty sure she'd toss her head and say, "That's tacky.  Doesn't she have any self-respect?"  Then she'd sip her Gimlet and light up another cigarette.

My grandmother was a lot like Betty.  (Minus the cheating husband with a fake identity. Obviously.)  She stayed home and "kept house" (and appearances) and judged the neighborhood from behind her formal living room draperies.  It was the era.  You didn't blab about your real problems to anyone other than trusted family and friends.

Our era is waaaay different.  Everyone blabs to anyone who will listen!  (Or read.)  Blogging started out with people talking about their issues--real, honest, relatable issues--and now I feel like it's crossed the line into Betty's side-eye sneer:  "tacky".

Posts read more Raw Confessional than Relatable because The Drama?  Attract hits.  Ads flash on sidebars.  Giveaways and contests and Facebook Fan Pages reel more readers in.  Women lay their lives open on the table and encourage readers to comment on it.  And it all reeks of... 

Neediness.   "Tell me I'm special!  Give me attention!  Look at me!  Praise me!  Validate me!" 

It's like we all have an endless black hole of insecurity.  (Yep, I'm including myself in this commentary.)  Why?  I mean, what's lacking in our society that we feel like we have to turn to the nameless, faceless internet to be heard?  Or loved?  Or understood? 

Ideas?

The Mad Housewife Society: Texan Mama

Today's Mad Housewife is Gretchen (aka, Texan Mama) from Who Put Me in Charge of These People?.  This post reminds me that I never had a baby shower.  Or a bridal shower.  No one threw one for me--and it felt tacky to throw one for myself.  

I'm all sad and bitter.

 

I love babies. LOVE LOVE LOVE babies. I want to squeeze them and nuzzle them and smell them till my ovaries do backflips. They are cute little bundles that deserve every ounce of attention showered upon them.

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, Peppermint Patty, I was so excited about having a baby shower.  I had this pumped-up expectation that I could go to Target, use the magic price gun to register for every bit and bauble that I thought my little bundle could ever need, and just sit back and wait. I’d have a shower, maybe two, and people attending the shower would basically fill my daughter’s nursery with a Diaper Genie, crib linens, baby monitor, toys, and outfits.

I’m not sure why I was so selfish about it. Well, maybe more than being selfish, it was more… ignorance. I was relatively young, and I was one of the first of my friends to have a baby. I was in that awkward phase between having NO etiquette as a wild partying college student, and learning proper adult etiquette. I didn’t quite understand that people would give me gifts and I. WOULD. BE. GRACIOUS.

So nowadays, when I overhear moms talking, or I read about moms considering having a baby shower for their second, third, or subsequent babies, I step back and say… “Wait, WHAT???”

A shower, for a wedding or for a baby, is intended to help the family get a good start on their new phase of life. A baby shower is pretty typical for a first baby because the family will likely not have any baby gear. But what is the logic behind having a baby shower for a second or third baby? If it’s a different gender baby, the parents aren’t going to need a new crib or stroller or Diaper Genie! If it’s been quite a number of years since the first baby and the gear is all outdated, the parents will still know what they want and they can purchase it themselves. (I’d even argue that if the parents ARE going to choose to completely start over from scratch with new baby gear, then they probably have enough money to buy it all themselves anyway.)

I’ve been thinking about this because I can only imagine what a drag it would be if I happened to be a single person and I kept getting invited to shower after shower after shower. I mean, how much is enough? I want to tell these moms who are serial shower throwers, “Your vagina is not a slot machine!”

If a close friend or family member really wants to get the expectant mom a gift, they’ll do it whether there’s going to be a shower or not. They don’t need an invitation to another party where they’ll have to sit around hearing about labor pains and waiting to smell a mystery jar of baby food and guess what flavor it is.

The next time you hear someone considering having a shower for a repeat pregnancy, you might want to remind them that in this economy, it’s just more fiscally responsible to reduce, reuse, and recycle, and that includes baby gear.

Fork. Spoon. Oh, and fingers.

You know what I hate about January?  Every Weight Loss Guru comes crawling out of their infomercial hole to push their Magic Juice.

Nutrisystem.  Jenny Craig.  Weight Watchers.  Bali Total Fitness.  Focus on the Family.

Errr...what?

I don't have cable  (The budget!  The budget!  The budget's on fiiah!) so I miss the TV spots with former* celebrity fatties convincing me that my life would be so much better if I got off the couch and ordered now.  Internet ads I glaze over and ignore.

Christian Weight Loss?  I don't remember reading the part where Jesus rebuked the fatty in the crowd, but maybe I missed it.  I thought he said "Man shall not live by bread alone," not "Man shall not eat bread.  Or carbs.  And he who covets cake shall surely perish."

Wait...gluttony was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, right?  Remember?  Brad Pitt found the fat guy who was made to eat bits of linoleum or something and then they moved the fridge and found GLUTTONY!!! written behind the fridge in ketchup.  Or Arby's Special Sauce.  Or was it just scratched into the paint?  I can't remember.  Now it's going to bother me.

Anyway.  I think I'll avoid all of the crazy diet plans and stick to PUT THE FORK DOWN. 


*I couldn't decide where to put "former" in that sentence--but it can be applied to both "fatties" and "celebrities" so it doesn't really matter.

Treat Myself Kindly

"You're staying home for New Year's Eve?  Ha!  LOSER.  No wonder you don't have any friends." 

"OMG, look at your fat roll!  That is so disgusting! *gag noises*  Why don't you take a kitchen knife and cut it off--do the entire world a favor."  

"All you write is a blog, and it's not even popular!  *snort*  So pathetic."  

I'm fed up with the Mean Girls living in my head, running me down and throwing me into full on self-hatred mode.  What am I, 13?   I would never talk to someone else that way.  I don't sit around pointing and laughing at strangers--so why do I do it to myself?

So my New Year's Resolution is:  Treat Myself Kindly.  One way I'm putting that into action is revamping this blog. 

I dropped Anonymous because 85% of the time it's spam or an anonhole, so...yeah.  That's gone.  I ditched the blog buttons and gadgets in my side bar because I don't want to be another Mommy Blogger obsessing over stats and Super Special Flair, and the Google Friend Connect thing seemed a little like showing off "I have 490 Followers!!!" or not measuring up "I only have 490 Followers.  Meh."  I wanted to take the focus off Empire Building and put it back on writing.     

Another big step in the right direction:  BlogHer ads are gone.  I'll be honest with you...I barely made any money off of them.  It was more about the ego boost they gave me that I was "good enough" to have an ad contract.  And since that contact came with a "You Must Write One Post Per Week" clause, it pressured me to write when I didn't want to (and probably shouldn't have). 

And finally... what I write here will be humorous observations about my life.  I'm not going to come here with real parenting frustrations.  I will not climb up on the cross (stole that one from Aunt Becky) and be crucified as a piss poor mother...or struggling mother...or depressed mother...because I wrote an honest post from a hard place.  I have a husband and supportive friends that I can turn to with all that--you guys?  Well, you're here for me to entertain.  

 

Okay.  One Mean Girl down.  The rest I'll battle on my own.