Since having Clark, my wardrobe has mainly consisted of my husband’s sweatshirts and yoga pants. Comfortable. Adorable. Spit-up proof. However, with our anniversary looming closer, I realized something terrible had happened: I have no real pants.
Sure, yoga pants are fantastic. I’m not going to complain about the fact that yoga pants are stretchy and cozy. I’m not even going to complain about the fact that the only people I see are family, and no one really minds that I exclusively wear yoga pants.
No. What I am going to complain about is the last 10 pounds I have to lose in order to fit in my pre-pregnancy pants. Yesterday, I made my return to the gym. And I was disappointed. No, not in what I was able to do (I still have perfect squat form and was able to sweat it out on the treadmill). But, being fit after pregnancy is exactly the problem. I’m still in “great shape”, so loosing weight? Ugh. That’s going to be difficult. And, honestly, I don’t look bad, but I can’t wear yoga pants to the theater. Ya feel me?
So, right now, I’m getting ready to go to the gym again. The fitness manager keeps calling me to sign up for personal training. Um. No. First of all, it costs $900/month. Second, it costs $900/month. I have a love/hate relationship with living in New Jersey’s snobbiest county.
Also, I’m pretty upset that I have to reduce my diet to basically nothing. My daily intake (now) is something like 2 eggs, 2 oz of cheese, and some chicken. So, I guess I’ll stop eating cheese. Because the gym mirrors are not kind to my ass.