Belly-busting
I think I woke up, about a month ago. I suddenly have complete sentences coming out of my mouth, I can read an entire newspaper article without losing focus, and talk radio (or almost anything else) no longer puts me instantaneously to sleep. (I once fell fast asleep on the masseuse's table and drooled all over her carpet through the little face-hole thing. It was screamingly funny at the time but now I'm not so sure).
Friends have called it baby fog, though for me it's taken almost four years to disperse - Samuel's 5th birthday is at the end of this month. Somehow he's managed to grow all his baby teeth, sprout to 42 inches tall, and develop an affinity for mechanical objects, all without any prompting on my part. I think I may have had a small hand in the growth part, what with feeding him and all.
And he'll be going to kindergarten this fall. When did THAT happen? And, the million dollar question is, where was I while it was happening??? I'm glad I've got blurry photographs (don't ask) of most of it, or I'd start to question my own sanity. Mind you, I'm not IN most of the pictures, so it could be pure fantasy. Except there is the undeniable fact that I have an almost-5 year old living in my house.
To my dismay, while in the aforementioned fog I appear to have grown a beer belly. Without the - mandatory, you'd assume - consumption of copious quantities of beer. The indignity of it all. I mean, it's not as if I even LIKE beer.
Maybe it's a wine belly. Or an apple strudel belly. Or maybe all that girls' night junk food has decided to move in with me. Whatever it is, I've been trying - and failing - to get rid of it for about a year now. In fact I've been trying to get rid of it for probably about four years. Maybe there's a causal relationship between baby fog and apple-strudel belly. Mindless mastication syndrome.
Where was I? oh yes, belly. So here I am, increasingly frustrated with my incalcitrant belly. I'm like that movie where the evil roommate tries to take over the woman's life and then murder her. Except of course, my evil roommate happens to be Apple Strudel Belly. I just have an uneasy feeling that things are Not As They Should Be.
So here's what I'm going to do: pump myself with hormones, stop eating and live off my fat for a month. It's called the HCG diet, and I'm going to be the resident guinea pig. Each day I'll report on my progress - or lack thereof - and when it comes time to tally the results I'll have a blow-by-blow rendition of the whole experience.
Friends have called it baby fog, though for me it's taken almost four years to disperse - Samuel's 5th birthday is at the end of this month. Somehow he's managed to grow all his baby teeth, sprout to 42 inches tall, and develop an affinity for mechanical objects, all without any prompting on my part. I think I may have had a small hand in the growth part, what with feeding him and all.
And he'll be going to kindergarten this fall. When did THAT happen? And, the million dollar question is, where was I while it was happening??? I'm glad I've got blurry photographs (don't ask) of most of it, or I'd start to question my own sanity. Mind you, I'm not IN most of the pictures, so it could be pure fantasy. Except there is the undeniable fact that I have an almost-5 year old living in my house.
To my dismay, while in the aforementioned fog I appear to have grown a beer belly. Without the - mandatory, you'd assume - consumption of copious quantities of beer. The indignity of it all. I mean, it's not as if I even LIKE beer.
Maybe it's a wine belly. Or an apple strudel belly. Or maybe all that girls' night junk food has decided to move in with me. Whatever it is, I've been trying - and failing - to get rid of it for about a year now. In fact I've been trying to get rid of it for probably about four years. Maybe there's a causal relationship between baby fog and apple-strudel belly. Mindless mastication syndrome.
Where was I? oh yes, belly. So here I am, increasingly frustrated with my incalcitrant belly. I'm like that movie where the evil roommate tries to take over the woman's life and then murder her. Except of course, my evil roommate happens to be Apple Strudel Belly. I just have an uneasy feeling that things are Not As They Should Be.
So here's what I'm going to do: pump myself with hormones, stop eating and live off my fat for a month. It's called the HCG diet, and I'm going to be the resident guinea pig. Each day I'll report on my progress - or lack thereof - and when it comes time to tally the results I'll have a blow-by-blow rendition of the whole experience.
posted by zouzou at 1:13 p.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home