I always heard people say that it gets harder and harder to lose weight after each successive child, but I never truly believed that was true. I always thought to myself, “Lies. Just watch what you eat and burn more than you take in and you will be fine.” After having Everlee, it didn’t take a whole lot of effort for me to drop my weight back down to pre-baby numbers. I even continued to rock a two-piece bathing suit (*GASP* Inconceivable!) After Leyton, however, my story changed a bit. Ultimately, though, that original thought is always going to be true. Burn more than you take in. Easy peasy.

HAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!

CLICK HERE TO HEAR MY RESPONSE (PORTRAYED BY TOM HANKS)

Easy. RIGHT. Because after having baby numero dos, I came to the ugly realization that it’s not my body’s fault that it isn’t losing the weight. No, no…my body would lose the weight just fine if I let it. It’s the “take in less” that becomes the problem. Why, you ask?! BECAUSE I HAVE TWO PSYCHO DNA REPLICAS RIPPING MY HOUSE APART LIKE TINY HULKS AND CLIMBING MY BODY LIKE CIRQUE DU SOLEIL ACROBRATS (see what I did there? 😉 ) THUS MAKING IT VIRTUALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME NOT TO UNWIND EACH NIGHT WITH A FEW LIQUID CALORIES TO RELAX AND SAVE MY SANITY. 

Now, take it easy Fitness Franks, I am not promoting laziness or alcoholism so just take a lovely split leap right off of that high horse you are about to mount. I am fully aware that calories in should  be less than calories out.  I do not eat fast food (*ahem* Jimmy Johns is not fast food. That’s not debatable) or entire sheet cakes. I am not a food-craving mongrel that blames everyone else for my lack of weight loss. Half the time I don’t even have TIME to eat at all. It’s 100% MY kids‘ fault. But when your infant is screaming bloody murder for hours on end because of only-God-knows why (probably because he has to poop or wants me to sing Pat-a-Cake for the 100th time) and your 3 year old has morphed in to the Devil incarnate because you told her she can’t have her PRECIOUS iPad, then you really don’t have time to cook up a salmon with pineapple/habanero compote. It becomes half a sleeve of crackers while you load your two loonies in to the car for their next organized activity and a beer when you get home because they undoubtedly ran your a** in to the ground.

I’m perfectly aware of HOW to lose weight, I’m just currently working on the EXECUTION. And son-of-a-B, it’s hard! So since this has become a recent goal of mine, I decided to buck up and put on my ancient gym shorts in an effort to go (*GULP*) JOGGING. Dear God, I’m going JOGGING. I mother-freaking HATE jogging. But I’m doin’ it.

*20 minutes later…

So after I FINALLY wriggle my thunderous thighs and lady love-handles in to my super-flattering workout spandex, I decide it looks more like a wet seal wrapped in cheese cloth than it does jogging gear. But too late, I’m wearing that shizz because that took entirely too long for me to attempt a second time.  But hey, I think I just burned several thousand calories just putting that human Saran Wrap on! Who-rah for that!

So here we go, I’m off. I start the slow trot that should act as a perfectly acceptable warm-up. I tripped on several toys and clothes piles along the way, but I finally made it down the stairs! I had to stop and take a short break because that damn baby gate can really take some finagling to open. But alas, I got it open and I’m off again!

Now I decided it’s time to really start to pick up the pace. I round the corner and BAM! I trip over the bouncy seat and it just about ends me. But persevere, I must! As I continue my jogging journey to Skinnytown, I am once again interrupted. My dear, sweet infant son is camped out in the middle of the hallway like a beached baby whale. We lock eyes (look away, LOOK AWAY!) and he starts the zombie crawl at top speeds in an effort to grab at my jogging feet. But I leap right over that human road block with the grace of an overweight ballerina. 

I round another corner just in time to roll my ankle in a feeble attempt to avoid the dirty diaper that I never got around to throwing in the trash. It’s all good, though, because I’d take a rolled ankle over a dirty, flattened pancake diaper any day. No one wants to clean that (literal) sh*t off of the hardwood. Puke.

At this point, I’m really starting to get winded. I’m thinking it’s time to throw in the towel, but this is exactly the type of attitude that got me in this fat predicament to begin with. So…..I jog on.

*weave*

*weave*

*dodge. PIVOT. PIVOT.*

*jump. jump. frog hop army crawl*

*trot. trot. slide right. jog. slide left. bear crawl.*

That’s it. I’m toast. The effort it just took for me to get out of the garage is too much for my aching body to handle. So I start my cool down jog all the way to the end of the driveway. Meanwhile, I figure I should probably be helpful while losing weight so I grab the emptied garbage can and wheel that can right back to the garage.

PHEW…that was intense. What a great cool down.

*pats self of the back*

So I bob and weave back through the obstacle course of outdoor toys spread throughout the garage. I look to my right and spot the beer fridge. So I grab me a Spotted Cow and crack that baby wide open in celebration. 

See? I’m off to a good start! I really don’t know why I can’t lose weight faster…

It must be my genes.