Swimsuit Editon...Chubby Style

Hey Friends!
I am back. I have returned from my tropical vacation. Actually I returned nearly 3 weeks ago, but cut me some slack, I'm lazy.
As I mentioned earlier, we went on an all inclusive trip. 14 of us in the humid heat, drinking, eating and having a great time. It was very much needed after the few months we had had. It was really great to relax and not worry about the day to day crap.
I faired far better than I had imagined I would, I must say.We were in Cuba, and as the reputation stands, the food is not the best. That being said, I never went hungry. (Ha! story of my god damn life!) We enjoyed omellettes for breakfast, Pina Coladas, Pizza for lunch, Pina Coladas, Pasta, Cristal Beer, fresh fruit, Pina Coladas and delicious breads and pastries...oh and Pina Coladas. We had the opportunity to have some awesome fish, shrimp and of course lobster. It was wonderful! Not once did I get sick, over eat or develop a food baby that looked overdue. And somehow, I lost 9 pounds on that trip! Seriously, what the hell? I came home and was amazed at the scale. I thought the asshole was lying to me. But sure as day, there it was. Yeah me...for now.
While in our tropical oasis we spent alot of time on the beach and in the pool. And that meant, in a bathing suit. (Although some of the europeans had there own interpretation of what a swim suit is.) I bought myself a really nice two piece tankini with a skirt bottom that was a little retro-ish. I must say, it was the first time in a long time I felt good in a swimsuit.( Thank you http://www.alwaysforme.com/ for the great plus size find!) This was a game changer for me, as I felt good and really felt that gave me the right to judge other people's poor swimsuit decisions. I know how fustrating swimsuits are, even for skinny bitches, but if your going to make a bad call, I am entilted to make fun of you and call you names.
Lets start with the "I'm from Saskatchewean/Manitoba/Alberta and don't give a shit who sees me, I'm on Vacation!" specimens: It is very easy to fall into this group. You get stars in your eyes, and really do throw caution to the wind. You drink beer for breakfast, stop doing your hair and rock the shit out of your animal/floral/polka dot bikini/tankini for the full 7 days. These ones crack me up because you see them at 9 a.m. and they are wasted! And why? Because they're on vacation and that's the only way they are getting into the bathing suit everyday! I would applaud these women if their bathing suits didn't look like cheap wall paper from a Vegas hotel. I know it is hard, but no woman over a size 10 looks good in a ruched tankini in a non-descript animal print. I don't know any animal that looks like that! And if there was one, it's likely the kind that gets eaten by their parents.
Then we have the "Over 50, had 3-5 kids, loves the tanning bed, and is still gonna rock this bikini because I deserve it!" I am all for girl power, but girl, your husband/best friend lied when they said it looked good. I am glad you have the confidence to wear that. But the tanning oils actually make your stretch marks glimmer and I hope it's safe to assume you asked for Oompa Loompa when you went tanning. I also hope you are wearing bottoms, but it's a bit hard to see under the gut. Just a thought. Oh and, no matter how much "support" that "push up" top gives you, you aint fooling anyone with those pancake boobs. But hey, your on vacation, you'll never see any of these people again!
We then have what my sister and I deemed "Wrong Sarong." This applies to both men and women. It is +30, and you've decided to wear a bathing suit/swim trunks. Men, maybe you went shirtless. So you mosey on down to the pool. You derobe, look around realize your not as confident as you thought. You panic a bit, and decide the best defense is to put on a sarong/bum wrap/towel and a shirt/cover up or gasp! sweater. All you have done is verify you are Canadian, added 10 pounds to your look and now you are sweating like Chris Farley during any SNL skit. I applaud your efforts Mr and Mrs Brandon Manitoba! But next time, go big or stay home!
Then we have the women like me. Let's call them "Shit, I didn't have a chance to lose that 20 pounds before vacation and now I have to wear this stupid tent to sit on the stupid beach and get stupid sand in my bum" vacationers. This is a sad lot really. We intend on losing that weight so we can buy a bathing suit before our holidays. Pretty soon, it's D-Day and you've actually gained 3 pounds from stress and cupcakes. Reluctantly, you go to Swim Co only to leave defeated and depressed because the 16 year old broad on her cell phone told we don't have that one that big. So you turn to a fimiliar friend,  Wal Mart. You slink between the aisles in case someone notices that your digging in th "X" rack for something resembling a 2 person tent. You pull at anything bigger than dental floss and smaller that a swimdress for maternity. You might end up with 3. Off you go. First one looks promising until you get it on and realize the top isn't long enough to reach the bottom, leaving a nice peek-a-boo effect. Good look, good look. #2 is a bit better, all the business is tucked in, boobs aren't to pancake like, and it's actually kind of cute. You turn around to see that your ass now looks like it starts at your arm pits and ends at your knees. You let out a little yelp! The sales girl asks if your ok and you reply, yeah, I'm great. All you really want to do is kick down the door and set fire to the whole god damned shithole. But you don't, because your a lady. So you go for broke. #3! Come on lucky #3. You get it on. That's step one in the success story. It's not too tight, business is covered, no back boob and when you jump a little...nothing flops out! Your getting excited..it's only $37 and really, your only going to wear it on this trip because by summer...Man! You are going to lose that 20 pounds and buy yourself a really nice one! Thats when it hits you like a Big Mac... it's the foresaken animal print. What is it? Is it Cheetah? Leopord? No...Wombat? What? Maybe it's..umm...something reallly exotic, like me! You tear it off in fury, throw it in the cart on top of the Doritos and Diet Pepsi. And don't look at it again until you're on vacation, 6 beers into breakfast and heading to the pool.

 All kidding aside, I am back. My life is on track and things are looking up. I'm feeling good, although I gained most of my mystery 9 pounds back . In an attempt to stay more accountable and force myself to write more often, I am going begin posting my current weight and a picture each time. I had intended on posting a gross swim suit picture, but alas, I forgot to take one. I was behind the camera more often than not, so there are few of me.

   My Hubby and I at the vow renewal for my mom and dad. I am 212 lbs in this photo and in a size 18 dress. And sun burnt like an idiot! Oh well...I was on Vacation. Today I am 209 lbs.
Keep fit and have fun. shit..that's not my motto. Oh..I don't have one.
Until Next Time!
Love Linz

Indescent Exposure

When is the best day to start a "diet"? When are we least likely to set ourselves up for an epic failure? I can answer that..freaking never! I don't think there is any opportune day to start a diet, or anything else for that matter. I can't possibly imagine waking up nice and early on a Monday and thinking...WOW! I really hope to start the week eating rice cakes, dry fish and copious amounts of bland vegetables. And really why would you start mid week? I've already had a lunch of Cheetos, pop and a king size Oh Henry, a dinner of microwave pizza, and ate my weights worth of Wine Gums.Who am I kidding suddenly pledging allegiance to whole grain and broiled chicken.
I also refuse to start near my period. It would be really unfortunate for all around me if they had to experience me as bitch x 2. Food deprived and period ridden? It would be uglier than a blind zombie apocalypse during Mardi Gras. Just nasty. So I always wait, till the cravings and the urge to murder my husband has subsided.
So I haven't started my "diet" again. I know it's not a diet, but a life style change. I get it. But I haven't fully committed to it just yet. My husband is currently at work, so that's pretty much a free pass. If he's not here, it kind of gives me the right to eat crap. There is nothing wrong with mac'n'cheese and wieners for dinner. Or chips and chocolate. (I do feed my kids properly, but hey! Why should I eat properly if there's no one here to see it!) That being said it is always easier when he's here. I am forced to cook properly, and he is a big encouragement. Excuse #2...we have an all inclusive trip planned for February. Now..tell me this isn't justified? Like I am going to go to a resort with endless food and not eat myself stupid! Comm'on! Like I will say " Hmm...delicious desserts, coffees, blended cocktail...but wait! You mean I can give all that up for a nice apple and soda water?" Kiss my gelatinous ass. Not gonna happen.
When I return from our holiday, I will kick my ass into high gear. I will hunker down and do what is needed. I will whole heartedly make friends with quinoa, skim milk and gasp! cut ties with ice cream and midnight toast and peanut butter.
I don't lack the motivation. There is plenty of that out there. There are plenty of success stories. Lots of "It worked for me!" There are people who have done it. Sure, they're all motivating. Good for them. But what really motivates me is the people who never had to do it. The lucky ones who were born with the god given ability to eat whatever they like and don't ever have to worry about it. It's not that I want to look like them, or wish I was like them (some of these skinny broads look a little too much like prepubescent boys for me) It pushes me to excel at my mission. If you were just given the things others coveted as valuable, would you see it as such? Not to be to philosophical, but I would rather gain (no pun intended) these accomplishments through hard work and determination than have take it for granted and nor appreciate it. I am not saying all naturally fit people don't appreciate what has been given to them. I am saying that some really do take it for granted. Instead of being grateful for their slender, tight bodies, they bitch and moan that they can't wear certain clothes because they are to small. Or dress like Mormon house wives in an attempt thee mask their bodies. If you got it, frigging flaunt it!
Brings me to my next mission. I am going to put on one of those ridiculous "before" pictures. Like the ones you see on the commercials, or in People magazines "Half their Size" issues. The one with the chunky broad in an ill fitting bikini, thinking she looks like a million bucks. Only later to come to the realisation that she looks like a moron. I went looking for such an atrocity. There were a few, but they weren't really disgusting enough. Not to say I am the most photogenic person, but since I am a fat ass, I always make a conscience decision to look somewhat acceptable in public when cameras are present. I try to wear flattering clothes and pose in the least fat way! I will post one from this past summer, and one from my holiday. I will wear a shit eating grin, and a swimsuit.And we will all look at it and think, "Wow, did no one tell her she shouldn't wear that!" and I will reply yes, but unless you've ever had to take a self exposing "before" picture, you better shut the heck up. Stay tuned!

Road Bumps..Lady Lumps

Holy Hannah!
It's been 2 months since I last posted..what the heck?!? I had the best intentions of becoming a narcissistic maniac blogger, and turned into a lame ass. I have excuses. Just like for everything else in my life, I have excuses. Legit, valid and super duper lame.

Let's get in our Delorian and travel back in time.All the way back to the year 2011. Remember that? The US killed Osama? Beyonce and Jay Z announced their pregnancy? I remained a fat ass? Ah, yes, it is all coming back to me now ( Cue Celine...)

Following my last entry, I was feeling really accomplished. I had received some really positive feedback and was generating the kind of discussion I had hoped for. I had confidence and was excited about my journey and about the people who loudly proclaimed their allegiance to the sweat pant mafia. I had received such great feedback, then BAM! (Or was it a Wham? Thud? Kaplow?) A person close to me, chimed in with the negativity. Not directed at my fatty-fat-fat or me in general, but at my method. They questioned why I would want to make myself so available to people I hardly know, and share my secrets. Now, this person knows me and has for a while. So really, me being fat wasn't a secret. It's not like I lived my life bound in saran wrap trying to hide the fact that I am 200+ pound broad. Really, it's not a secret. It's pretty freaking obvious! This person, then went on to ask if I didn't have better things to do? Implying that this was a waste of time and my self depreciating behaviour was keeping me from obtaining my goals. Listen ass clown, my goal is not to be a heifer, so I think I'm being really proactive. Needless to say, I was rattled by this reaction. I had to step inside myself and ask if I did truly have good intentions?

Physically, I was doing well too. I had started my cleanse (see next post on horrifying details!) and had set a game plan in motion. I had written out my goals, intentions and theoretically planned my mission into the holiday season. I had a whole big spiel prepared for sharing. On portion control, exercise, and the best way to knock the skinny bitch out who just ate a man size serving of cheese ball. Then... our life hit a road bump. My husband became very ill with Pancreatitis.He was hospitalised immediately and it was a hard time for us.

My cleanse went out the window the day he went in. I abandoned my dairy free, gluten free, rabbit diet with the exuberance of a school boy! Thank you stress....Screw you nasty herbs and flowers. I can't say I was upset about not getting to finish my cleanse, but I was upset I had made it 3 days on twigs and berries. (Not that kind..you sickos!) With my husband in the hospital and the kids in school, I spent my time with him. He was very sick and in a lot of pain. A treatment for Pancreatitis is to refrain from ingesting any food, including drinking water. With my husband exclusively surviving on an IV I filled the gaps. It was upsetting to see him in pain, and to see him so sickly. My husband is not a big man, and over the duration of his illness, he lost nearly 30 lbs. He did not really have 30 lbs to lose. To cover the spread, I put on 15. Yup, in the 2 weeks he was in the hospital I gained 15 pounds. Since he wasn't able to eat and I felt guilty eating in front of him, I ate alone. I would take the girls to school, hit Timmy's for a bagel and coffee, head to hospital. We'd hang out, he'd get more pain drugs, then I'd leave him to rest...and eat. McDonald, A & W, whatever. I'd go get my lunch, eat in the car on my way to run errands, then back to him. I'd go get my girls from school then head over to the grocery store. Get my stuff for dinner, and a snack for the kids and one for mom. Back to the hospital for another visit with the kids, then home. Dinner for 3, that could feed 10, bed for the girls and snacks for mommy. Oh yeah, it was a well earned 15 pounds.

My husband finally was given the OK to head home. We returned to our lives with more knowledge about his condition. Basically, as a preventative measure since he has a compromised pancreas and is prone to developing diabetes on both a genetic and physical level, we have had to overhaul our lifestyle. As a result, we are embarking together on a healthier lifestyle to help save my husband from further complications. I guess the same goes for me too. Essentially, it is best if he eats like a diabetic. Low carb, low fat, cleaner eating.

So, I now have a partner in my journey. He doesn't need to lose weight, but the complete overhaul of the way we view food is for the both us now.We are going to share in the adventure. Meaning, I will cook crap like Bulgar, and tell him it's delicious. He'll eat it, then call me a liar and say it taste like shit. Then we'll laugh and say "well, at least it's good for us!"

So thanks for sticking around. I promise I am back with more asinine tales of my fat ass. It won't always be sunshine and lollipops, but I appreciate the support. As I sit here in my sweats, I am so thankful to have people to share this with. It feels a little less lonesome.

Chubby Mamma,
Lindsey

Sweatpants Mafia

When did I resort to "comfort"? When did I give up, so to say? Likely around the time I woke up fat. I'm pretty sure these went hand in hand. I don't think sane or thin people just decide that flannel, fleece or whatever the hell Lululemon is made of, is meant for everyday wear. Actually, not true, it is meant for everyday wear, TO BED or the gym. Baha..like that happens...

It's actually taken on a life of it's own. I've actually developed a systematic approach to the validity of only wearing sweatpants. I grade them on their acceptability in public, the embarrassment of my children, the likely hood of seeing someone I know (not for my own embarrassment, but theirs) and most importantly, their comfort.

Public: Okay, so we all know the sweatpants with the elastics on the ankles. The ones reserved for 8 year old boys, couples over 60 wearing matching sweatsuits, and for scrubbing the shit out of your toilets. I have a few pairs of these. They were black, but now have orange bleach stains. The elastic rides up on my calves, they actually leave red marks in my skin. I hate these pants, but you know what? They are comfortable and they are a guarantee that I can finish my housework without interruptions. No man with an ounce of pride would try to get up on their wife when she's wearing these pants. These are only for in my own home. I change out of these gems into more attractive sweats to go outside.

My Children: They are still young enough, that they're not overtly affected by my choice of attire. But, I do make the conscience decision not to wear any sweats with letters on the ass. I am a Princess, but my ass doesn't need to advertise that I am the Princess of a country the size of Russia. I don't have ones with little paw prints on them either. I am classier than that. HA! But really, I do take into account that I have daughters who are aware of their own fashion choices. Only once has my eldest commented on my sweats. She asked if they were the same ones I wore to bed. I laughed, and told her that would be gross! They were new ones, that look the same. When I like a pair, I go back and get 5.

Other People: I really don't give a rats ass about what other people think of my clothes. Not one bit. But, when I run into people whom I have limited contact with, they seem uncomfortable that I do my banking in sweats. I've actually had people ask if I was sick, or tired. I'm always tired, so that's a pretty redundant question. They seem to think that for some reason I must downtrodden or suffering from some sort of crazy ailment. I've even been snubbed from acquaintances for what I assume would be my attire. (I am sure it's not because I can talk for an hour in the tampon section of the drugstore) They actually can't seem to grasp that I am comfortable doing my errands in grey sweats. I'll tell you something, I am sure as shit getting my stuff done a lot faster than you wearing your "skinny" jeans, heeled boots, 30 lbs of cheap jewelery and your "Snooki" pouf. So for the sake of others, I don't wear the toilet scrubbing pants or the "Diva" assed ones to the bank...anymore.

Comfort: This is an obvious. I don't wear these pants because they are trendy. I wear them because regular clothes don't feel good. Jeans are "hard". The last thing I want is stiff material folding itself, into myself. That's just bad. Belts can kiss my ass. Hard leather digging in. Awesome. I have no need for dress pants. The one pair I have and love, no longer fit. They were my "how fat am I now?" pants. I bought them at one of my biggest times, and they are great.Really nice and comfortable. They are the pants I just can't throw out. When I lose weight, I still wear them, because they are cute when they're baggy. But last week, I put them on and realised for the first time since I bought them, they are too small.

I am not enough of a lady to pull off a skirt or dress. No one wants to see me climbing out of my car flashing my granny panties. Or loading groceries with my cheeks all exposed. Leggings can look good on ladies my size, sure. But I end up looking like a frigging lollipop. My top is far larger than my bottom, so effectively I look like at any moment I could fall over. Like those weeble toys, though the likeliness of me "bouncing" back up, are zero to none. I have "classy" sweats, ie. my Lululemons. I feel like I can wear these anywhere and pull them off. I may even trick a few people into thinking I came from the gym. But little do they know I am sweaty from finishing my cheeseburger before I run into the school, so I won't have to share. And I only wear running shoes, because fancy shoes look stupid with sweats. I have "warm" sweats, which are the staple for our awesome winters. They are thicker, so that's helpful in minimizing my weighty appearance. But they're warm so who gives a shit.

I do own some nice clothes. I do have some trendy stuff in the back of my closet. I just usually reserve these for special occasions or special people. I am willing to  sacrifice my comfort for a few hours for friends or family. This is mostly because I have the type of friends and family who will call me out on this. My sister will ask what the hell I am wearing. My mom will ask if I am actually going out in what I have on. It's all in fun...I think.

All kidding aside, it's like this because I'm fat. It's hard to want to shop when "average" size, isn't so average. It's hard when 99% of the stores in the mall don't carry clothes that fit, and if they do, they are cut for someone without boobs, hips, or an ass. The "plus size" stores are shit. I don't want to look like a 50 year old book keeper (no offence to any of you out there, but I'm not 50 and I hate math) There's a huge disparity in styles available. Mainstream fashion isn't accessible. Size 14 is often the largest available, which is really like a size 10. Some stores have made an effort, don't get me wrong. But an article of clothing that's available in a size 0 isn't necessarily going to look as cute, or fit as well when expanded to a size 18. Sorry, it doesn't really work. Fashion retailers have under educated their staff in sizing and fit. I once (when I was down to a 10) asked an associate for a larger size in a shirt. She looked me up and down and said "We don't carry plus size." All I wanted was a size large. Scrawny cow.

So in an effort to avoid the insurmountable anguish involved in shopping, I've decided for the time being to take a stand against clothes. I will pledge allegiance to the cotton makers of the world and support them whole heartedly by living exclusively in sweats. I will be the leader of the sweat pant mafia. We are strong willed women who can get shit done. And don't mess with us, or our cheeseburgers, because we rule to world. And by world I mean the parent council and drive thrus.

I woke up fat

Hey friends,
You are all so lovely! I want to give you all a big shout out for the positive feedback on my first post! Makes it feel a little less intimidating sharing everything.

I woke up fat. Just like the title indicates. One misty, magical morning I awoke and BAM! The damn fat fairy had come and gave me love handles. And a "gunt". I hate that skinny bitch. Now, this isn't entirely true. But in my mind, it eases the pain. (But so does Ben & Jerry's, but that's a little counter intuitive).

A brief history of my fat:
I wasn't always fat. Not entirely. Growing up, I was an active, athletic kid. I played competitive sports, swam and spent countless hours outside. I was always a little bigger than my friends, but not enough that I felt any discomfort. I was never teased, or ridiculed. I have an amazing family, and it was never an issue. I watched my Mom and aunts try every new "fat fad" out there during the 80's and 90's. I watched and never felt any sort of connection to my own waist line.
In high school, it became a part of me. But I suspect, that it did for most teenage girls. I remember knowing I didn't quite look like all my friends. First of all, I didn't have long blond hair. I didn't go to the tanning beds (Anyone who knows me, knows that I am nearly transparent. My radiation like glow can cause small aircraft to suddenly veer off course). And I most certainly didn't go to the gym. Some of my closest friends during those days worked at a local gym, and participated in "weight loss challenges" I didn't dress like them either. I had a very unique look and style. I can see now that it was out of necessity. I wore vintage garb, bright colours and whatever made me feel comfortable. I didn't "look good" in the stuff from Le Chateau and I didn't like showing my ass crack in $100 jeans. I often looked a little androgynous, and was rumoured to be a lesbian at one time. I always had hair that was a bit cutting edge and it became "my thing."
After high school, I partied. We all did. And the weight began to creep up. I worked as a waitress, which was also a great way to get fat. I never had food at my house, I would just grab something to eat at work. Have you ever seen 6 hungover waitresses devour a plate of poutine? It makes a lion tearing apart a gazelle look PG. I drank lots of Coke (which was and is an addiction I struggle with, but that too is another post). Cocktails, beer and shots of Jagermeister were often meal replacements after a busy weekend shift. 3 am pizza orders, or McDonald were always a given, then a secondary trip a few hours later to help get over the hangover. I still didn't feel "fat". I felt good (when I wasn't sick from thinking triples for a $1 is a good idea) and I thought I looked good. I was proud of my boobs. I always had big boobs, which was a crowning achievement giving the history of my family. "A" cups were common, but by 16 I was a "D".
It was during these times that I met and fell in love with my husband. We worked together, and what began as a friendship, quickly became more. Soon, we were expecting our first baby. I will spare you all the details of that time for another day. But I can tell you that during my pregnancy, I gained a whopping 60 lbs, and topped the scale at 199 lbs. I was happy because I hadn't hit 200. When my first daughter was 6 months old, we found out we were expecting baby #2. Now, I hadn't lost nearly any of my baby weight and was sitting at 175 lbs the day I found out I was with child. By the end of pregnancy 2, I was 218 lbs.
I still didn't feel fat. I felt as though I had earned my weight carrying 2 babies. I justified it in saying I hadn't lost enough weight from one, before 2 came along. I still believed the weight would just come off on it's own.Now, this isn't to say I was in denial. I knew I was bigger, and I didn't like it. I just didn't however think the gunt was here to stay. I had hope. Foolish me!
When #2 was 6 months old or so, I took a job serving again. I made new friends, and began walking nearly every night. I was looking and feeling great. My husband and I were finally able to take our first ever vacation together. We were going to Toronto, and I was thrilled. SHOPPING! Woo Hoo! I couldn't wait to go and get all sorts of fantastic things. I busted my ass that summer and managed to lose 27 lbs, and was in a size 10/12. I had just front boob. No secondary armpit boob reaching around to the back. I was on a roll!
We had a great vacation, and upon my return to work , I was feeling wicked in my newly purchased H&M black skirt and a new white wrap shirt. It was that night my image of myself crumbled. A fellow co-worker was introducing me to a friend of hers. A young man, younger than myself, that was new to town. As my friend was doing introductions, the young man asked if I was married. I went to tell him I was indeed, and that had 2 small children. He looked me up and down once, then said "Wow! You look really good for having two kids." Now, that may not seem like an insult to anyone but me, but it struck a cord. At first I just thought what an ass. This young man must not have any idea how to behave socially. His mother must be ashamed. Then I replayed what he said over and over. Sure, there had been other times where people said things (Like...when is your baby due? I'm not preggo ASSHOLE!) but this time it hurt. I had been feeling so accomplished in my success, that I thought I did look good. Not good for having had 2 kids,but normal good. Good like the other girls I worked with. Good like the ladies in grocery store. I kept thinking "That's like telling a someone they look good for being a burn victim." or "Wow, you sure are looking good considering your horribly disfigured." Thus began the never ending battle for weight loss and that feeling. The one you get when you know you have given it your all and that no one, or any comment can take that from you.
So what is different this time you say? What makes my journey special? Why do I need this? Because, I don't want to pee my pants. You read that correctly in case you are wondering. I want to be able to sneeze without wearing a diaper.I want to laugh without needing to change my pants. I want to jump on a trampoline. No...actually that's a lie. I don't ever want to jump on a trampoline, I just want to know that if I did, I could do it without leaving a "snail trail."
I went for my dreaded yearly physical last week. The whole kit and caboodle. After I let the doctor cop a feel of my boobs, and check out my lady junk, I inquired about the surgery to repair my busted bladder. My children had wreaked havoc on it, and up until this year, I had been told to just keep doing those kegel exercises. Well, enough of that crap. Just go in and fix the damn thing already.SO we sat down and discussed the procedure. I know lots of family and other women who have had it done, and was prepared to hear it could take months to get in. But what I hadn't prepared for was the "You need to lose some weight" conversation. Now, this conversation has happened every year since I gave birth to #2. I am no stranger to the doom-agedon like "reality check" that the Dr. spews. Heart disease, diabetes, blah blah blah! Not to minimize the danger of these, but I've heard it, I get it. My Dr. treads lightly and explains that at my current weight, I could have the surgery, but if my previous weight yo-yo act is any indication, it won't be nearly as effective. With significant gain or loss, the procedure isn't as effective and would require a second, or third operation. So with the sweetest voice he can muster, he delivers the facts. I am 5'6" and weigh 221 lbs. That means I have a BMI of 35.5. According to the WHO, I am obese and by other standards, I am level 1, morbidly obese. Yup...AWESOME!
So in an attempt to stop pissing myself, I need to lose some weight. A woman of my height should weigh any where between 120- 159 lbs, depending on where you look. So I can stand to lose between 60-100 lbs. Oh crap. A daunting order indeed. I am not going to put a "goal weight" right now. That's depressing! I don't want to screw it up this time. But, I feel different about this journey. By sharing, I feel a sense of responsibility. I like thinking there are other women out there cheering me on, sharing in the same challenges. And peeing themselves in the process

The weight on my shoulders

Hey!
Another weight loss blog...yup, that's what this is. I know there are a million out there, and some better than others. Some humorous, some preachy, some down right depressing! I've been told a million times I'm funny (defense mechanism, but that's another post!) and I want to share with all the other Chubby Mammas (and maybe Chubby Papas too!) out there, the endless struggle and hilarity in this ongoing journey. I want to find a way to share stories of the things that go on. Simple as that.

But it is more than just weight loss. I am a stay at home mom, volunteer and wife. Everyday is a new journey, a gift. And sometimes those gifts are similar to bags of flaming dog poo on your door step. And other times, all I can do is stand in awe of my life.

So welcome. Welcome to my little corner (who am I kidding, 220 lbs isn't a little corner). I am not writting this to invite some sort of pity or sympathy. I am going to take a very honest approach to sharing my stories. Sometimes it can sound self depreciating or "debbie downer" ish. This is not my intention.

So come along for the ride. I promise an open insight into the life of a fat, white, nearly 30 mamma struggling to lift the weight off my shoulders. (And my ass.)