How you can save me from this cursed metabolic slump

I have a great many positive qualities, if I do say so myself, but self-discipline is not among them. To my credit, if you met my parents you’d think I was a self-control success story. These people have virtually no filter between their brain and their mouth. But regardless, it is true that I do lack discipline.

And so my New Year’s resolutions tend not to be terribly fruitful. But this year, I am following-through on my follow-through I am kicking ass and taking names. Because . . .

I need to lose this baby belly.

The baby’s no longer a baby but the belly is still a belly – aye, there’s the rub. And I am relying on you, dear, wise readers to help.

My obstacle is this:

I’ve never had to exercise to stay skinny. I say this knowing you won’t hate me because it is, sadly, in the past. Before the age of about 30, I was untouchable. Ate anything. Never worked out. Stayed at my college weight. It was the honeymoon phase between me and my woman’s body. Even after two kids, I was back in my old XS clothes within a month or so. Oh, how the pride goes before a fall! That cursed metabolic slump of my 30s! Oh the ruined abdominal wall of two pregnancies! But lamenting doesn’t give you a six-pack. I’ve tried. It turns out you have to WORK for it. The indignity.

What I’m trying to sugarcoat is this:

I’m lazy. Shockingly, incredibly, balls-out lazy. I despise sweating. I loathe panting for breath. It just seems so uncivilized. But the time has come for change. I made a New Year’s Resolution for Chrissake. So the question, dear readers is this:

How do I get rid of the baby belly? Oh, one caveat. No diets, please. I don’t smoke or drink or have casual sex, I watch my TV with the volume low and shop at Target, so eating pasta and the occasional burger is what I do for kicks. Take that away and where do I get my jollies?

I’m taking about exercise. I’m willing to sweat and I’m willing to do it every day, provided it takes 30 minutes or less. I’m about the realistic plan, to maximize chances for success. You know, starting small and building momentum.

I didn’t say it would be easy. But I KNOW you can help me, fitness gurus out there. My abdomen depends on you!

Weird shit is happening . . .

. . . to me at night. And the weirdest part is I suspect that I am the culprit. I went to bed last night with my watch on and woke up this morning with a bare wrist. The watch was under my pillow.

(You can’t see me but as I write this, I am raising my eyebrows, communicating suspicion and consternation). In other words: WTF?

Is someone slipping me AmbienCR without my knowing it? And, in addition to making me remove my wrist jewelry and hide it from myself, are the meds also making me eat while not awake, while you will recall from my prior post is a potential side-effect? If so, that could explain why I never lose weight despite the fact that I honestly don’t seem to eat that much and do the kind of hard, manual labor that would keep Rosanne Barr svelte.

Gut-sucking

If you can still suck the gut in, you’re not fat. I came up with this rule of thumb today, when I realized that if I sucked in my big ole baby belly to the extent that my ribs protruded a bit, then twisted and turned different parts in strategic ways, I could almost pass for my pre-baby hot self.

“Still got it.” I said to David as I showed him the results of my labor.

That was heartening. The problem is, when I un-suck, my whole abdominal area balloons out like I am being inflated. It just really looks like I am 3 or 4 months pregnant. In fact, if I was 3 or 4 months pregnant, I wouldn’t look bad at all. I’d look kind of fantastic. I fleetingly considered just pretending that I was preggo so that all of my body issues would evaporate and people would think I was hot again. But then I realized that was psychotic.

I once came up with a genius weight-loss-illusion idea. It was called the “lie-down diet.” On the lie-down diet you just recline fully and let gravity do the work to make yours a flatter stomach. It was a wonderful idea but the catch was that gravity also makes your tetas looks flatter and that was too high a price for me to pay.

So now I am back to relying on Spanx, gut-sucking and the hope that one day I will spontaneously decide that sit-ups are my cup of tea.

And I’d just like to note that although I curse copiously in front of my 2 year-old daughter -- enough that she mutters “shit” whenever she drops Goldfish from her snack trap -- I do not use the word fat in front of her. So although I don’t have enough discipline to actually make myself un-fat, I have enough not to talk about it in front of my impressionable she-child. And for those keeping track, please add this to the list of reasons why I should at least be considered for Mother of the Year.