Don't take life too serious.

Ben and Jerry Are Trying To Get Me Pregnant.

chunky monkey

My husband likes big butts, and I cannot lie. I, on the other hand, am a little concerned with the size of my derrière these days. Most women want to lose weight so they look/feel better. I’m just scared of getting chubby and knocked up.

I know several women who have gone on a health kick and ended up with fantastic bodies and two solid lines on a whiz quiz. Not me. Both times I have landed at my heaviest weight, I have gotten pregnant. A little junk in my trunk is dangerous.

I stepped on the scale the other day and realized I am 8lbs short of that baby-making weight. Not that I don’t use other precautions but the numbers don’t lie, the warm weather doesn’t last long around here and keeping warm and cozy with the hubs at night is starting to worry me.

Throughout the past year, I got a terrible case of the f*ck-its, when it comes to my physical well-being. I’m actually in a rather lovely place mind-wise. I’ve finally gotten myself to a mental space that is freeing and uplifting but feel like I’m sabotaging that reprieve by not addressing the full picture. The mind and body.

I was born with an addicts brain. It’s hard for me to find balance in anything. Food is no different. I love me some slightly undercooked brownies and if they are around, I will violate them. And ice cream…paleeze. There is a reason Death By Chocolate is my favorite. I will rationalize eating the crusts of my kid’s pbj sandwiches because, “I hate to see waste.” In reality, I see peanut butter and it’s like my two yr old noticing a piece of dog food on the floor, I just can’t say no.

Actually, I can say no. Lately, I just haven’t cared enough to. It’s the same thing with smoking cigarettes. I have quit for extended periods of time several times and then because of a lack of self control, I start up again. It always starts with bumming one while having a cocktail or just a random, “Oh I’ll be fine just having one!” Yeah, ok.

I used to walk every day once the weather started getting nice. I walked once this past summer. I have valid excuses…arthritic hip, I’m a tired-ass Mom, don’t have the time… but like Salt (or was it Pepa?) said, “Excuses are like assholes and everybody’s got one.” Truth is, I’m ignoring the value in it. Therefore, I’m seriously lacking self-value these days.

Last summer I was in a bikini. A freakin’ bikini. I looked great but struggled the worst I ever had with depression. Now, I’m at a better place mentally but I’ve let my body go. Why does that happen. Is the idea of being in an over-all place of well-being really just an elusive idea, thought up and marketed by some sick, sadistic douch-bag?

I’ve always been a goal-oriented person. If I say I will do something by a certain date or time, I’ll always do it. However, I am a procrastinator. I’ve decided to start by making small goals. Baby steps. I need to fight my tendencies to go all in, balls to the wall. I usually burn out pretty quick.

Much like I need to address this growing badonkadonk of mine, I need to start paying more attention to my what my body is telling me. And it’s telling me that just because Ben and Jerry’s ice cream is on sale, I do not have buy it. It’s serious people. If I end up with an oops baby, there will be nothing left of my mind or body to even talk about.