During my workout this morning, as we did timed sit ups as part of the first day of the boot camp that my gym runs, it dawned on me - no matter how many of these I do today, I will see zero results. Yesterday I was not excited to find that a favorite skirt no longer made me look curvy, but instead just made me look, well I'll say it, lumpy. You see, last December something kicked me out of my lazy rut - I suspect it was this stunning athletic woman I met while vacationing in Vieques. I was surprised that I kept seeing her come back from the gym at the resort, while I had come to the island to recover from election fatigue, and I fully planned to lay about, drink beer and read books and tan on beautiful beaches. She did all those things and looked amazing, and for some reason, it just clicked with me that I can no longer be a bum. So back in the District, I headed to my gym where I occasionally attended yoga or hung out on the elliptical watching movies (give me a little credit - it was actually in motion too), and decided it was worth it to get a personal trainer. Expensive? Oh yeah, but two sizes later, and the ability to lift 95 lbs and do 30 pushups in a minute has made me realize that it was totally worth it.
So I have been working out regularly, which of course made shopping fun again. I can easily fit into fancy overpriced jeans and I'm not depressed shopping at online sample sales, because I'll more than likely find stuff I like and that fits wonderfully.
So fast forward to this week. Two weeks ago I had to buy all new bras - in a size I was unaware existed outside of porn shops - and sadly, these bras are decidedly not porny. On Saturday I thought my tummy looked funny so I went to the gym and did a great weight class and abs work, knowing that boot camp started up again this week. And this morning, a pair of tab front pants that have never ever been a problem came unhooked when I walked to work. Yeah, that happened.
So it's time to face facts - my new abs are not going to see the light of day for about 6 more months. My pants are going to continue to fit funny. At least I know why this is happening, and its not because of too many beery weekends or too few vegetables and workouts. And I sort of want to wear a sign around my neck proclaiming that I'm knocked up, and that's why my pants look too small. But knowing in my head, that this is what is supposed to happen, doesn't make it any more exciting while re-buttoning my pants on the way to work this morning. I'm trying to cheer myself up by checking out the preggers jeans that my favorite jean brands carry - is it wrong that I might keep a pair for Thanksgiving - and to realize that this is all normal, that the squid is supposed to grow, and so will I. But I would be lying if said this was my favorite part of this whole thing.