I was runnin'

I am actively recruiting expectant mothers to photograph for my portfolio. I would like to include this element into the photographic services I offer.

My recruitment efforts have not been very successful.

But, I am so eager to practice. So eager, in fact, that I recently realized that I, in my postpartum glory, could pose for maternity pictures myself. Then I could use myself to market myself. Brilliant!

I then realized that I wanted to shoot myself.

I mean, seriously. #3 is one. Actually, to be exact, he is 13 1/2 months.

Why, after 13 1/2 months do I continue to look as though I am 5 months pregnant? The real question is why, after 7 1/2 years do I continue to look 5 months pregnant? Because that is when the ugly truly jumped off, with #1.

So, once I talked myself off the ledge, and realized that posing for maternity photos when I am NOT pregnant is really counterproductive, I decided that something must be done.

I have to get my belly in gear. Time to put an end to this perpetual pregnancy.

I may never fully recover from the land mine that exploded in my body, but I've got to at least try to gain a semblance of control.

The days of low rise, hipster jeans may be gone for good. But, the least I could do is get a pair that button, snap, or zip. Elastic waist jeans are so 65 year old.

And I may never be able to walk into Old Navy and buy a perfect fit shirt or a two piece swimsuit again, but I vow that this summer I will not be caught at the pool in jeans and a XXL t-shirt sweating my brains out b/c I can not (with a clear conscience) get undressed in front of people I have any likelihood of seeing ever again.

I know I can do it. I lost weight once (or twice) before. Maybe not enough to sport a bikini, but enough to confidently wear a one piece minus the pleated skirt and the terry cover up.

I will not let the food monkey on my back rule me any more. I've taken the first step: I've successfully failed the OA quiz and admitted that I have a problem.

So how did I beat this mind controlling primate in the past? Weight Watchers and running.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly running. I guess it was really more like jogging? What ever it was, it was considerably slower than running, and mildly faster than walking, and it felt good.

I always loved the runner's high that I would get right after the first mile, when I felt like I could keep running forever.

I always loved how proud of myself I felt when I got home after a long run, because I NEVER thought I'd be able to do it.

And, I always loved that Husband loved that I did it too.

So, before I make a commitment to begin slowly starving myself (Weight Watchers), I decided to get back in the trainers and see what I can do after 4 cold months of sporadic exercise and 10lbs of fat due to eating with reckless abandon.

It was not pretty. I huffed, and I puffed, and I almost went down.

The only thing that kept me going was Eminem. Nothing like being cursed out and degraded to make you want to stick it out.

Oh, and the fact that I'm neurotic about stopping to walk. I always feel like one of my neighbors will see me and think that I couldn't cut it, so I run from one wooded area to the next in order to catch my breath. I'm a sick person, I know.

Point is, I have a loooooong way to go before I can send those elastic waist dealys to Goodwill, so I better get to it. I'm out of excuses (weather is nice, baby is born, days that end in "y" are once again eligible).

Jelly Belly and I are gonna do it this time.

As our fearless leader says, "Yes we can". And if this doesn't inspire me, nothing will!