In an effort to look less not-skinny (see? I am even trying to take the word "fat" out of my vocab.) I bought some weights and a workout video called Yoga Booty Ballet. As I write it out, I realize just the title makes me despise the video. Those three words actually make me mad. I mean, three words I would rather be speaking about would be Chocolate Frosted Donuts. This might explain why I am still referring to my weight as "pregnancy pounds". Um, I am pretty sure the two small, yet distinctly NOT recently birthed, kids at my side make accepting that answer a little tough.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t really feel all that badly about myself–I am blessed with a much better self-image than actually exists in reality. That is, until I see a picture of myself and think, "who the hell is that fat girl wearing my face, kissing my husband, and holding my kids??"
So the time has come. I am trying to eliminate almost all of my sugar (a girl has to have just a little coconut coffee creamer), drink water like it is going out of style, pack on the protein and greens, and stop with the aforementioned Chocolate Frosted Donuts. And exercise. Cardio whenever I can, weights 3-4 times a week, which brings me to the dreaded Yoga Booty Ballet.
The video starts with a guided meditation and some instruction on some poses. Jane and I sat on the floor together this morning to start our meditation. The RIDICULOUSLY good-looking, muscley, all too smiley women hosting this thing are already NOT going to be my friends. But I am going with the flow. Longer, leaner, less likely to resemble a beached whale this summer, that’s going to be me. So. Here’s what meditation sounded like:
Finding my center.
"MOMMY! I WANT MORE MILK!"
"It’s right in front of you, babe."
"OH! HERE IT IS!"
Have to find my center again.
"MOMMY, I WANT TO WATCH MISS SPIDER!"
"After this is over…sit down and do what I am doing."
Where did I put that center.
"MOMMY…PEEE-YOOOO! I HAVE POOPY PANTS!"
Bad idea. Poopy pants.
Back to my spot.
"MOMMY! I HURT MYSELF!"
IM TRYING TO FIND MY CENTER HERE, KID!
And then its over. As I sat with squirmy cranky Jane, these two ladies announce that at the end of each session they say to each other Namaste. One said it means, "my divine light respects your divine light." Uh huh. I’ll get back to you on that one.
Somebody get me a chocolate frosted donut.