Because I Have Two Asses

After spending the whole summer avoiding both the treadmill and a bathing suit, and noticing at my Grandma's wake that my only pair of really nice dress pants were WAY too tight, I have come to the conclusion that I am starting to look like my mother. Now, I can handle being a bit plump, have a little spare tire, but when I officially start to look like my mother, it's time for a change.

I love my mom. She is strange and distant and detached, all the while pretending to be all Mrs. Cleaver-ish, but she's still my mom. Growing up, my mom was everyone's favorite mom. She was good at being with little kids, and she still is. She should quit her job and run a small daycare. It's adults she has a problem relating too, especially when she used to know them as kids- like me and my brother, for example, and all of our friends. In a nutshell, it's bizarre. I hope that in that aspect, I am not like my mother, but in another, I am. I love to snack. It's a beautiful thing. Until, one day, you turn around and you have two asses.

Since having my son, I have become a slug. Not by choice, so much, but by lifestyle change. I used to walk my two dogs 3 miles a day at least 5 times a week, both summer or winter. Then I had a c-section, and did nothing for a long time. I had a hard time healing, but wanted to get back in shape. So I walked without the dogs, and just the stroller, and did... ok. But when your abs are sliced in half, you realize how hard life is without them. And how hard it is to get them back. I have yet to get them back. It took me one year to be able to do a crunch without feeling two sets of muscles in my abs, and it freaked me out. Now, I just hate the thought of crunches. So I don't do them. And now that my son hates being confined to a stroller for more than 15 mintues, we don't walk anymore either.

If we lived in a community with sidewalks or streetlights, I would walk the dogs at night when my husband got home. Before we moved here, I would run with my lab at 11pm, just loving the quiet and her being able to be off-leash. Not safe, some would say, but we lived in a safe community, and I had a big burly dog running next to me. But now we live in a community that has neither sidewalks nor street lights, and back up to a forest preserve that, after dark, leaves your imagination to scary things, and believe me, you wouldn't walk near there after dark either. So that leaves the treadmill, which I hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Did I say that right? Oh yes, I hate it.

I saw my mom last week, and listened to everything she said. I say it all, too. I need to lose weight. I need to get on the treadmill. My pants don't fit. I need new clothes. I need to start eating better. I hear all of those things, say all of those things, but like my mother, don't do much about it. And it scares me. I don't want to look like her- she's at a point where you can tell she's becoming unhealthy. I'm not there yet, but it's a short leap to get there. So yesterday, with an extra mental push from Speckblog, I joined Weight Watchers online.

I'm not going to meetings, because I don't have time. But I will keep track of what I'm eating, which is what I really need to do. Because I don't account for the leftover fruitsnacks, the quarter of a PB&J sandwich, and other half eaten things my son leaves behind, which is a lot of my problem. The other part of my problem is that damn treadmill, which I got on for 30 minutes last night, and told my husband he needs to make me do every night. Not force me to get on it, but simply say, I'll hang with Evan for a half hour if you want to hop on the treadmill. How do I say no to that? I can't. So he has to say it. Has to. And I have to get on it. Have to.

I'm sick of having two asses. I would like one ass again, one that looks great in a pair of jeans, one that is tolerable in a swim suit, and should I ride horses again on a regular basis, looks great on the back of a horse, too. I don't want my ass to match my horse's ass. Nor do I want my ass to match my mother's ass. I don't expect to ever get my old ass back, but a newer, better ass than the one I have is fine with me.