Happiness, thy name is Kozy Shack

As much as I would like to believe that when I look into the mirror what I see is the body of a supermodel, I have to be content with the reality that I am a thirty-something working girl who has had a baby. I am unsure which fact contributes more to my flabby thirtiness; whether it is working, which by definition means complex carb snacks at breakfast meetings and endless hours parked on my spreading ass doing sweet f&*% all OR could it be the fact that I used my pregnancy as carte blanche to indulge my "craving" for hamburgers, ice cream and chocolate chip cookie dough. I am beginning to believe that it may be a combo of both items plus now, I find myself mindlessly finishing Baby Girl's meals which means that not only am I getting the fat and calories from my own meals, I am also benefitting by finishing off Baby Girl's half eaten chicken nuggets shaped like rocket ships and the tail end of yogurts and cookies.

The even bigger problem is that I really detest exercise and when I say detest, I really, really mean it. I nod knowingly when friends say things like, "I just don't feel right if I don't workout at least 5 times a week" or "I need to run every morning or else life just isn't worth living" but the truth is, they might as well be saying, "unless I poke myself in the eye with a burning hot poker, I can't concentrate" because if you asked me, it's a toss up between going for a jaunty run and poking myself in the eye. The even worse part is that I secretly long to be a lithe, springy runner, flying around effortlessly in my Lululemon flared running pants and sassy top, ponytail flying in the wind but the truth is that when I see someone jogging, I feel faint and have an immediate need for a martini and a square of chocolate. The even funnier part is that I really enjoy active activities like tennis, biking, skiing and swimming but then, they don't really feel like exercise. So, I have committed to trying to find some active, baby belly burning exercise that doesn't feel like exercise. Many, many moons ago, I did boxing and not boxercise but real honest to goodness, smelly gloves and incessant skip rope boxing and I really, really liked it because I was too exhausted to be a stress merchant or my usual onery self. Mr. Lemony Lemonade loved it because when I got home, all the fight, literally, had gone out of me and I was like a little pussy cat. I will also be trying to find a sort of combo dance/fitness class thing that might fool me into thinking that I am having a good time and not actually exercising.

In the meantime, I am thanking my lucky stars that Kozy Shack has figured out how to make their little pots of pudding goodness a mere 90 calories so that until I can figure out something that will keep my butt from further spreading, it will at least spread at a slightly slower rate.