Movin’ On Up… the Scale
On August 1st we moved from a one-bedroom apartment we’d lived in for 10 years to a three-bedroom, two-bath house just four miles away. My husband’s commute time has been chopped in half because he no longer has to drive the Dreaded Street north to the hills. We have a backyard in which to grill and play with our daughter, I have a large kitchen in which to cook up healthy meals, but most of all we have space to occasionally get out of each other’s face.
But we also have added weight.
Excuse me while I sob laugh.
We sold our stove about 10 days before the move because the house comes with one. So we took the opportunity to have one last “goodbye meal” delivered from each of our favorite nearby restaurants, because although our old neighborhood is only four miles away, it might as well be in Portland, Oregon thanks to L.A. traffic. We knew it would be a long time before we set foot in the restaurant mecca known as West Hollywood again, and decided that was a good enough reason to eat as unhealthfully as possible.
Then we moved. The move itself was excruciating, even with the help of friends, but the settling in has been by far the worst part. Painting, unpacking, organizing, discarding, buying, building, repainting, reorganizing, all of which have to be done after my toddler goes to bed at 8PM. So we’re up way too late, up way too early, exhausted, cranky, and annoyed at not being able to find anything. (Where are the goddamned tampons? OH! In with the hammer and nails. OF COURSE!)
Did I make time to exercise? No. Did I make time to eat well? Sometimes. Did I make time for wine? EVERY NIGHT.
So why was I so surprised when the scale showed an eight-pound gain? I now weigh MORE than I did when I started this whole thing back in January! And not to sit here and compare but shit, Linda’s son is only two months older than my daughter and she (Linda) just completed a goddamned triathlon like some super hero and I’m digging around for my maternity pants because my regular clothes are too damned tight.
Yet what is there to do? Bitch, moan, cry? Sure. But that burns about 18 calories.
So I popped in the 30 Day Shred and whimpered in misery at minute 15, but I finished.
Then I ate a big bowl of potatoes.
Next up, a long walk and a salad. Wow. I’m so inspiring I make myself want to lie down with a bowl of ice cream.