The Triumphant Return

Today is day FOUR. The fourth day of my triumphant return...to my treadmill. My last child was kind enough to saddle me with ten extra pounds that she didn't take with her when she made her blessed exit from my body. Yes, yes, I know. In Hollywood I would have been back to my pre-pregnancy size on some magazine cover in a bikini without so much as a whiff of a strech mark two weeks later. Hey ladies, Photoshop is an amazing thing. I, however, live in the real world where what my body looks like has nothing to do with my job, and thank you God for that. As I was not a stick figure to begin with, after the birth of my third child I didn't feel an immediate and pressing need to become that once again. Unfortunately, the time has now arrived. I have become tired of my extra weight and clothes that don't fit. So we are about to break up. I hope it's a quick one. Oh, who am I kidding? It will be a long, drawn out, messy affair just like it was the last time. After all these years, the one thing I know about my body is this: I can lose weight, as much as I want, if and only if I am willing to WORK at it. Diet, schmiet. I have to MOVE.
After my twins were born, I lost 60 pounds. I had gained 40, so I was pretty pleased with that. I saw a friend who told me that I looked good (no one ever gets tired of hearing that) and then the inevitable question. "How did you do it?' "An hour on the treadmill at a 10 incline at least six days a week." "OH. Well, I don't want to do that! I thought maybe you were taking something." Yeah, well, here's the thing. I didn't WANT to do it either. I just hated being fat more that I hated that treadmill.
I love how the breastfeeding proponents tell you that you should nurse your baby in order to lose weight. It burns so many extra calories! I am here to put a stop to that nasty little rumor. Sorry, girls. With unwavering, slightly psychotic, bulldog-with-a-bone determination, I managed to breastfeed my third child for 13 months. I STILL have plenty of extra pounds left to lose, and I'd never been so hungry in my life. Maybe that's what happened, making milk just made me feel like I was starving, so I made sure to eat more. I dunno. But my plan to let her suck me down until I looked like an old dairy cow with her hip bones sticking out was a miserable failure.
My husband can tell me that men love curves and Marilyn Monroe was a size 12 all he wants. Marilyn doesn't have to squeeze her ass into my jeans. Not only that, but I enjoy breathing while wearing my clothes. Now after three kids, I'm under no illusions about the fact that I'm not ever going to look like my friend Taiga who's all buff and runs marathons for fun. If you've ever given birth to more than one child at a time, you're going to have "wobbly bits" that aren't going away without help from a surgeon. If you see a woman who has given birth to twins or triplets with rock hard abs and no loose skin, she's either got a really great doctor or a great pair of Spanx. Hey, I'm into the truth.
My knees are already complaining. Just this morning my left knee said, "Woman, are you crazy? We don't run. I am for walking and very occasional bending. Keep that in mind or I will make your life miserable. You have been warned." But I am sore in all of the places I despise. So perhaps we are headed in the right direction. Pre-baby weight, here I come. Slowly. With a limp. I'm sure my horses will thank me later.