About 15 months ago, I started Weight Watchers with the intention of losing weight to get myself healthy for a pregnancy.  And by June 1, I had achieved my 10% Goal! 

Then I started actually trying to get pregnant.

With the don’t-get-your-heart-rate-up-too-high and take-it-easy-during-the-two-week-wait. 

And after six months of that, I had a laparoscopy which forced me to cut down on my exercise, which apparently then flipped the switch in my carbohydrate-powered brain that said EAT WHATEVER THE HELL YOU CAN REACH, not to mention it was the beginning of holiday season. 

Then we mixed in some shots of tequila gonadatropins which jacked with my endocrine system, and combined with the depression of not yet getting pregnant, I morphed into this weepy carb-eating lazy ass.  By February, we took a break and I got my new best friend, Lexi, and I evolved into a much happier carb-eating lazy ass. 

And speaking of ass, Lord HAVE MERCY ON MY ASS! I am serious, I accidentally saw my not-sucking-in-profile in the mirror the other day when I got out of the shower, and the shock of it, after I realized it was me, caused me to throw up inside my mouth, all acidy and bile-ish.  The ass of me took up nearly half of the landscape and a good two thirds of the vertical part of the mirror. In photography, the subject was well framed. In reality, it was sobering. It was like the mirror’s personal space was being overtaken, suffocated by Ass.

And this happened to be the same day that I had gone to have my annual well-woman checkup, which included a blood pressure reading and GETTING ON THE SCALE. As if having a shoe-horn up your wahoo and being scraped on the inside wasn’t humbling enough.  Goal + FIFTEEN fucking pounds!  In 15 months!  Truly, and this is sick in a lot of ways, but up until that day, I had been quite fascinated with my changing body, like I was my own little science experiment of this-is-what-happens-when-you-overfeed-and-under-exercise. 

And I know I keep saying this, but were it not for my best friend Lexi, I would probably be a weepy lazy ass having hot wings and fried pickles, but instead, the super power neurotransmitting optimism endorphins are firing! So here’s a look at the bright side of the eclipse of the junk in my trunk:

  1. I won’t have to “hide” being pregnant during the first trimester.
  2. My underwear will last me a good while longer.  I hope.
  3. I have plenty of cushion for while I have to be on bedrest for two days after transfer.
  4. I have PLENTY of surface area for the shots I’ll be getting in the next several weeks.  PLENTY. 
  5. In cold weather, I’ve been able to warm seats quickly so I haven’t used my car’s butt warmers quite as much. 
  6. When I go running at the park, and I have to walk half-way through, people still think good things about me like “wow, well at least she’s out here!” 
  7. I can legitimately ho it out in my Lucky jeans and some heels. Top it off with the halter top, yo. 
  8. I can say things like “badonkadonk” and “junk in my trunk”. With complete authority.
  9. I can see what I’ll “look like” pregnant, without having to put a pillow under my shirt.
  10. The badonkadonk proliferation has created boobs where there once were none. FREAKIN’ BONUS!