it is my secret belief that all mommy blogs have a diet blog lurking somewhere deep within them, just yearning to break free.

childbirth is to the female body rather what chrysalis is to a butterfly cocoon, except that those stretched, ripped-open carcasses get left for trash after the flutterbies elbow their way out, thankyou very muchly. we keep our incubators, us sentimental fools, and keep on living in ‘em. then we add to the madness the beauty treatment known as sleep deprivation, which descends upon new parents like a thud to the head for the first…oh…five years or so, apparently. not a recipe for great body image among new mamas, folks. lack of sleep can lead one to do terrible, if tasty, things to one’s poor beaten body, like feeding it chocolate and Crunchits for breakfast in a pitiful attempt to stay conscious. when one does this on a regular basis - i speak, of course, hypothetically here - it’s no shock that the corporeal self doesn’t emerge from one’s offspring’s first year looking so snazzy as one might hope. and that hope is where the diet part comes in…hence the diet blogging.

thank you, o post-feminist world, for making us all into would-be MILFs. i feel so…enfranchised. and lumpy.

all that to say, i’m trying to get my ass in gear. i bravely began a diligent regimen of recording what i eat and do with my body last Thursday evening. this momentous decision was triggered when the single-sitting demise of an extra-large bag of jujubes made me suspect that perhaps i’ve been sabotaging my own path to mommy hottness. so away with the sugar and in with the veggies, says i. and i dusted off the exercise bike and have actually been riding it, rather regularly, despite my terror of pedalled objects.

inspiring, isn’t it?

ha. i am very disappointed to report that an entire week has passed, and new heights of hottness have not been magically forthcoming. i have, in fact, lost no more than a pound. and my belly still flaps over my pants like a puffy little dumpling…a dumpling that curls up beside me when i lie down. i think my torso has refused to reabsorb it or something, but it stays loyally nearby.

i keep hoping for a dread medical diagnosis on that one, but i secretly know it’s just flab, which is NOT hott, no matter how many lies Dave kindly tells me. and despite the fact that i’ve done almost 50 situps over the past week - umm…no, not daily, that’s cumulative…but still, some support here, people! - it’s still there. the world sucks, clearly.

on the very first day of this endeavour, i was full of keen, shiny enthusiasm. now, i’m just beginning to get mad. i have been eating alfalfa and carrots and spinach and all sorts of nutritious goodness. i have been walking and stretching and riding, and writing down every damn thing i eat. i know this is all good for me. it’s a good habit, no matter the lack of immediate gratification. but i WANT the immediate gratification. i want my poor, rejected belly-pot to fit back within my old pants. now. apparently, i may have be willing to try biking for more than five minutes in a row to achieve that particular goal.

so i’m giving it another week. :)

i like to think that at least, watching me sweat and work slowly toward a goal will be some kind of good role-modelling for Oscar. plus, eventually he was gonna catch on that all those jujubes i was eating were tastier than the cheerios he’s been getting, right?

so we shall see what i can make out of ye olde cocoon. send miracles…or at least some staying power.