Welcome to my blog dedicated to recording my experience and progress as I attempt to loose my baby weight and get back down to my fighting weight.
A little about me:
My family: I have a 2 month old eating, pooping and farting machine... Tristan. He is our first baby and we love him to death -- when he's sleeping. My husband, Andy's a type 1 diabetic. What does that mean? In a nutshell, when Andy was 7 his pancreas basically said screw this shit, I'm moving out. He hasn't seen it since.
My brother and I have been on diets our entire life, not because we were pudgy children, because our parents have been on a diet our entire life. That being said, I'm pretty good about eating healthy (or quasi healthy). There's always at least one vegetable of some kind in the meal.
- I LOVE diet coke. It's my vice. I don't drink it because it's low cal, I just love the taste. "Nectar of the Gods," according to my brother.
- Carbs. If someone told me I would die in 3 days if I didn't stop eating carbs... (pre-Tristan) I would have shrugged and taken another heaping bite of my mac-and-cheese.
- I'm not that good about eating protean
- I don't drink enough water (who does?)
- I hate breakfast. I tend to skip it, or replace it with 2 cups of coffee.
- Beer. I love beer (even though I'm allergic to Barley, sad I know)
Gender: Female (duh!)
Height: 5' 1"
Starting Weight: 149.6
Goal Weight: 125
FYI, based on my calculated BMI (28.3), I am almost obese (30). Really!?!?
I don't, nor have I ever, owned a scale. I didn't even pay attention to my weight at the doctors office when I was pregnant. I believe I tipped the scales at 160-something-or-other at one point. So the hardest part of this blog is going to be keeping up with measuring my weight.
Why am I doing this? Because I am (next to my brother and father) the cheapest person I know. I refused to purchase maternity clothes when I was pregnant, and I can barley squeeze into my old pants now. My husband continues to tell me how beautiful I am and that I am perfect the way I am... blah blah blah. That still doesn't help the fact that I can't zip up my favorite pair of jeans, and my boobs muffin top out of my favorite bras.
What am I going to do? Run, or jog really. Our dog, Rita also needs to loose a little weight, so she is going to join me in my running endeavors.