I'm sitting in the Austin Airport right now, fresh off a visit with Izzy Rose and her husband. We had a blast at the pre-soon-to-be-annual Stepmom Fete. We ate good food, listened to good music and made really good fun of the get-anything-you-want-for-$2-on-Sixth Street antics. We also took a lot of pictures (or, rather, Izzy and her husband took a lot of pictures).
Every once in a while I'd see the post-mortem of the posed shot. Every time I caught my image on the screen I wanted to throw up in my mouth. I swear to hell and back that I looked a lot hotter and tighter when we left the hotel room but to see me in the pictures I look like I ate my cute, hot self.
How in the hell did I get so fat?
I know how I got so fat...Too many trips to the pantry or the salad bar; way too many rolls from the bread basket and wwwwaaaaaayyyyy to many helpings of potatoes (fried, mashed, roasted you name it; I've never met a potato I didn't like).
I've been trying to make healthier food choices lately: I've swapped chicken dinners for fish; consuming salads instead of chips and salsa; hummus instead of cheese dip. I feel like I should look like Riki Lake by now but I don't.
Paranoia has also turned me into an angry, green monster. My husband has never commented about my weight and has been 100% encouraging about my efforts to lose weight; however, when we're out at a club as we were last night, I can't help but be pissed at myself that I don't look like the cute girls in the club. My husband is married to a fatty and I sometimes worry that he's ashamed of me (is it wrong to want to be groped incessantly by my husband when we're out in public?)
I seriously need to get my ass into the gym. I know one of the big reasons I look like Erin the Whale is I don't exercise nearly as much as I need to. Hell, one of the reasons I'm on standby right now is so I can get home and take a walk (nevermind the fact that I'm at an airport with 2 hours to spare until my potential standby flight and miles of slick airport terminal space to walk).
Next week I start back to pole dancing which should help reignite that sexy sway I used to have in my step. My dire need to do a pole inversion is also going to serve as a means to turn my core into a rock-solid 6-pack (actually, I'd settle for a 2-pack). I want to do a few races this fall so I need to get my body back in 5K shape.
All of this public self-loathing/motivational tacticing would be fine if it weren't for the fact that at home, I have a stepdaughter with the complete opposite problem. She's rail thin, small for her age and totally adorable, yet at nearly 12 she smuggles mom's Jenny Craig bars into her lunch, won't touch a french fry (or walk into a restaurant where they're served); and will only drink water unless she's given a vanilla skim latte from Starbucks (for the record, I'm not buying the Starbucks).
My stepdaughter and I are complete opposite ends of the spectrum yet we have the same problem: body image
She doesn't want to get fat and I don't want to be fat anymore. As a stepmom, I have to be careful where and how I tread on this touchy topic. I don't want to work out too much or cut out too many of my calories in front of my stepdaughter for fear that she may replicate that very same behavior which would not only make her dad unhappy but her mom as well.
Somehow, worrying about whether my stepdaughter would like me five years ago seems less daunting than this...