That's what you get.

I'm a sweets person. Usually, every day after lunch, I'll have three pieces of this. It's not a great habit, but those three pieces usually suffice to satisfy my craving.

Unfortunately, I ate my last 3 pieces yesterday and forgot to bring more into work this morning. I felt like I had to have something, so I decided to go to the vending machine in the breakroom at work.

Apparently that was a big mistake.

As I reached into the vending machine to pull out my candy bar, the door swung (swinged? swang? that can't be right, lol) back really quickly and slammed into the top portion of my middle finger, pinning it against the wall of the machine.

Holy mother of all things that hurt! It was a damn snapping turtle disguised as a vending machine. I'm now convinced that we have Decepticons hanging out in our breakroom. They're everywhere, people. Watch out.

As I muffled my scream, I thought, "Dude! It was a 3 Muskateers! They totally have 45% less fat than other candy bars. What were you going to do if it was King Sized, take the whole hand?!"

You would think my workout last night would have counteracted my bad snacking karma, but apparently not.

Well played, God of Unhealthy Snacks. Well played.

Breakup Progress Report

Hellz. Yeah.

I said at least 30 minutes. 30:01, baby.

I said at least 1.5 miles. 1.536, baby. 

Are they earth shattering goals? No. At least, it's something.

"I'm here for the party and I ain't leavin' till they throw me out"

(Here for the Party - Gretchen Wilson)

Who:  You! (And Me, too)

What:  The start (or continuation) of a healthiness journey

When:  Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your life

Where:  Anywhere you wish! (Some bad ideas include a comfy couch, a favorite fast food restaurant, or the bottom of a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos).

Why:  Because We Like You! No, really, because you deserve to live the best life you can.

How:  Sit on a bike, Eat better, Sleep more, Procrastinate being lazy, Make Excuses for why you can't give up.

Come join the party!

P.S. Half way through writng this post, I thought it seemed familiar. And then I remembered that Jack Sh*t posted something similar earlier this month. Jack, please consider this un homage to you.

"Everybody's working for the weekend..."

(Working for the Weekend - Loverboy)


The past six months have brought about a lot of changes. I have a new baby, which y'all know about. But I also have a new job, too.

My return from maternity leave was definitely unpleasant. For one, I was leaving a gorgeous seven-week-old baby, and for two, I was leaving a gorgeous seven-week-old baby to return to a job that I was really unhappy with.

I stayed there because it was good money and easy work. I liked the company, I liked (most of) the people. I really, really disliked my day-to-day tasks, my overall contribution to the company (or lack thereof), and the lack of direction I was receiving. When I came back from maternity leave, I was basically told that I was lucky I had a job to return to, and that I wouldn't be receiving any sort of raise or bonus.

That's not exactly an incentive to stay somewhere you're unhappy with in the first place.

So, in typical Mrs. B's OCD fashion, I obsessed over job searches. Any free time I had was spent on Career Builder, Indeed, Glassdoor.com, and any other job related website I could think of.

My MIL sent me job listings when ever she saw something that might be pertinent, and early on into my search she sent me a link to a training job. I brushed it off because it was located at a business that was farther away (and in the opposite direction) from where I was hoping to work. I searched and searched, and sent in resume after resume. It was definitely slim pickings, so I eventually decided to go ahead and send in my resume for the position my MIL found.

I ended up getting call backs for two places. Two. Out of dozens of applications and resumes.

The first was a training position at a downtown bank. Yay, downtown! Where I used to work, and where The BFF and several friends work, and close to my hometown roots. Boo, downtown traffic, gas costs, and exclusively training the collections department. Ultimately, I interviewed twice for this job, but was not selected. No big loss.

The second was for the job my MIL found. While I was in the process of interviewing for the bank position, I was also going through the process of interviewing for this job. It's a local retail company with 10 brick and mortar stores. They were looking for a corporate trainer with knowledge of Learning Management Systems.

I went through an initial phone screening, an in-person interview with the Director of HR and the COO, a second in-person interview with the Director of HR and the Director of Stores, and a third in-person interview including a powerpoint presentation with all three of those guys. After that, I had two phone interviews with members of the board. And finally, finally,  I was offered the position. When I came in to sign my offer letter, I also had an impromptu meeting with the owner of the company.

After all that, I'm adding "professional hoop jumper" to my resume.

I've been with the company since April. Currently, I'm developing their Learning Management System from scratch, and they recently decided that they wanted to add an intranet, too. It's two, two, two jobs in one! (Shoot me now!)

I love it there, though. They give me the freedom to make decisions, and they have absolutely gone out of their way to make sure I feel comfortable, at home, and have all my questions answered. They are sending me to Florida, Las Vegas, and Dallas this year for some discovery/training opportunities. 

My only regret is that I'm a horrible, no good negotiator. It's my own damn fault that they've gotten me for a steal. But you know what? There's something to say for not getting physically sick to the stomach at the thought of having to go into work the next day. That's for sure.

I'm still 'working for the weekend', but at least I don't mind the weekdays as much.

The most interesting (wo)man in the world...

Alternate Title: "Scenes from Mommyland"

Alternate Alternate Title: "I'm A Sucker For a Good Tagline"

Scene: Bubbers is laying on his changing table, I'm undressing him to give him a bath. He loves it when you make a big deal out of pulling off his socks one at a time.

Me: "Uno sockie! Dos sockies! Dos sockies. I don't always wear socks, but when I do, it's dos sockies."

Logan: (giggle)

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Old Beginnings and New Endings

The post below was my very first Breaking Up With Burgers post, written on December 10, 2008. My how things haven't changed...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I will go in this way, and find my own way out..."


Here I am. 26 years old, married for 52 whole days, 260.6 pounds (really?! When did that happen?!), newly-diagnosed Type 2 diabetic, gallbladderless, and scared shitless that I'm not going to get to spend the 60 years that was mutually agreed on with my husband.


I have been told that if I want to start a family, I have no choice but to lose weight, get my diabetes under control, and (oh, that dreaded word...) change. Not an easy change, you know, like changing the sheets on the bed, although I could stand to be better at that, too. No. Life-altering, get-off-your-lazy-ass-'cuz-that's-how-you-got-this-way, hardest-work-you'll-ever-do kind of change.


Shit.


I suck at that.


(Obviously, since I'm 26 and have never stepped on a scale to see a smaller weight than the year before. NEVER.)


There are about a gazillion different reasons and/or excuses I could tell you as to why I find myself in this place. My parents had a nasty divorce when I was younger, and food was comfort. I didn't have money or parental support to get into sports as a kid. There is a history of obesity in my family. My gallbladder was removed and I don't process fat as well. Whatever you want to hear, I've got it for you. What it boils down to, though, is this:


1. I am in a love affair with bad food. Greasy, cheesy, fried, barbecue-sauced goodness. Ugh, I'm drooling like Pavlov's dog just thinking about it. It is my companion when everything else sucks. How do you let go of something that makes you happy because you know it's bad for you?


2. I am lazy. Jack (my "almost too handsome in a 'What in the hell are you doing with me?' sort of way" husband) and I come home from work - where I sit on my ass, mind you, and he stands on his feet all day - eat, and crash. I love my Dancing With the Stars, Private Practice, Boston Legal, Amazing Race, Two and a Half Men, etc. Reality junkie? Right here. I guess I'd rather be a voyeur into someone else's reality than deal with my own. Okay, you psychiatrists out there: have your field day. We have lot's to talk about.


3. I am scared. All I've ever done with weight loss is fail. Hell, let's broaden our view, shall we? All I've ever done with life is fail. I graduated from high school, went to work, made a decent attempt at a communication degree, and then f*ed that up. I'm horrible with money. I slack at my job. I feel entitled to the 'creature comforts' of life that we really can't afford. In general: I don't have it all together. I don't have anything together, and I'm absolutely petrified that I will never be able to change my ways. That's a lot of stuff to do, man, and I already told you: I'm lazy! I'm scared to tell people that I have goals because I don't want to deal with the consequences of not meeting them. It's so much easier to beat myself up for not doing something, than to see the disapproval of my friends and family when they realize that I've not accomplished yet another goal. I'm the fucking Chicken Little of weight loss.


I love my husband, my friends, and my family. I want a dog, a house, and a nicer car. But I also want to be able to enjoy those things. I want to sit on my husband's lap. I want to do more than just go out to eat with my amazing friends. I want to impress my family. I want to give a dog the home and exercise he deserves. I want the energy to do things around the house. And I want to be able to bend over while sitting in that nicer car, and be able to grab something off the floor.

While we're on the subject, let's talk about some other random things that I want to be able to do: Sit comfortably in an airplane. Buy cute clothes. Wear a swimsuit. Use regularly sized towels in the shower. See my belly button (it's been hidden for years!). Feel sexy, even though my husband swears I am. Have something better to go on than just my 'big boobs'. Sleep better at night. And the list goes on and on.


So here's the thing: I have to do it. It took 26 years, but my body is finally giving me the choice: (wo)man up, or die miserably. If morbid obesity, gallstones, and diabetes don't tell me something, then I don't know what will. So here, in this crazy big world, I'm sending it out there. Hold me accountable. I dare you.


My goal is to weigh under 200 pounds by my first anniversary: October 18th, 2009.


61 pounds. 213,500 calories burned, that's all. Piece of cake...


Shit. Okay, so I've got a long way to go.


But my new life starts now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It breaks my heart to read this now - two and a half years later.  I still have diabetes. I'm still (if not even MORE so) morbidly obese. I weigh more now than I did when I wrote the original post. I'm still lazy. I'm still horrible at getting/keeping "it" all together. I didn't even take the risk of having a high risk pregnancy seriously enough to change my ways.

I am exceptionally successful at failure.

It's times like these when an introspective person, such as myself, might read these words and wonder why she even bothers writing again. Why bother trying again? Why bother risking the possibility that I'll start things up and fail miserably? Again. Why set myself up to fail? AGAIN.

Why? Because struggling with weight isn't a one and done sort of thing. I am willing to bet my right arm (which I really like, by the way,) that there isn't one person in the world who has struggled with a weight issue once and only once in his or her life. It's not the nature of the beast for it to work that way. Being healthy is a continual journey, one that you aren't even finished with after you've fought the battle of the bulge and the war on weight.  When I do succeed, I'm still going to have to think about it and fight tooth and tummy every day.

So, yes, I have failed. Yes, I didn't do what I said I was going to do. Yes, there's the chance that this time will be no different. But.

But, but, but.

There's a wee  bit of me, a tiny little sliver, that just once wants to fail at failing. And as long as that spark is still there, the journey isn't over.

There's still a chance for this old, warn out beginning to have a new and different ending.

Break up buddies

I'll be honest. (As usual).

I have been considering weight loss surgery. Specifically, The Lap Band. And again, to be honest, if I had the $14, 000 I would do it tomorrow. However, this post isn't really about that. Through researching the Lap Band, I stumbled across some a-frickin-mazing bloggers, and I thought I'd give 'em a little shout out.

If you're interested in learning about WLS, or you're just looking for some fun, fresh new blogs to read, check out the following peeps:

Catherine at Chronicles from Band Land.

Breanne at Lady Lap Band.

Lap Band Gal at Lap Band Gal!.

And one of my personal favorites, Amy at Once Upon A Time in the Land of Cheese and Sunkist.

Of course, I always have my favorite fitness bloggers to enjoy, too!

If you don't know Jack Sh*t, then you don't know... well, jack sh*t!

And a personal friend of mine who is (literally) kicking ass and taking names: Nicole at Future Healthy Girl.

So take a few minutes, head over into their little worlds and see what kinds of fun they've got going on!

Fresh and Fu-ull of Life!

The old bloggety blog here is going to get a design update soon! And not the rinky-dink job I did using blogger's design tool, either.

Nothing but the best for you guys. Nothing but the best.

A big shout out to my pal Tricia over at Tricia Nae Designs who is going to take on the task! Go visit her and get yourself a fancy-schmancy new blog 'do. (But let her get to mine first, she's a busy lady. lol) 

I'm sure it will be a while before Mr. Blog here gets his new digs, but I'm super excited that it's in the works.

Have a great Friday, lovelies!

Henry Ford is my homeboy.

I can change a flat tire.

I can speak a little french.

I can name all 50 states in alphabetical order. (In 30 seconds or less).

I can cook a mean chicken casserole.

I can drive a stick shift.

I can sing at least the chorus of almost any song on any station on the radio.

I bet you're thinking, "Is there anything this woman can't do?"

I can't look at my son without thinking "My God, I'm lucky."

I can't not smile during Progressive Auto Insurance commercials. (I love Flo.)

I can't believe I weigh 271 pounds right now.

I can't find the time to do anything about it.

I can't imagine it getting better any time soon.

But you wanna know the one thing that I'll absolutely NEVER be able to do, no matter how hard I try?

I can't give up.

"Whether you think you can, or think you can't, you're right." ~ Henry Ford

Where have you been all my life?

So, the obvious song choice for the title of this blog should have been "It's Been A While" by Staind. Have I ever been one to do the obvious? Nah, it takes the fun out of life.

In the past six months, my life has changed dramatically. And mostly, for the better. I thought I'd creep my toes back into the shallow end of the blogging pool by telling you all about my favorite part of the last six months.

Gaining 18 pounds.

Just kidding, sort of.

I have gained almost 20 pounds since Logan was born, but that's a post for a different day. The 18 pounds I'm talking about is a giggly, bouncy, poo-filled bundle of joy.

Here's the story of Logan (or Bubbers, Bubberoo, Bubby, Bubber Man, etc.):

Grab your popcorn and make yourself comfy, because it's a long read.

Logan was born on Thursday, December 23, 2010. I had been put on bed rest starting November 18th because of extreme swelling and elevated blood pressures. The doctors were concerned about the possibility of me developing pre-eclampsia.
Everything was going fine until a doctor’s appointment on November 24th. They checked my blood pressure and it was extremely elevated, so they sent me to triage and ultimately admitted me for 24-hour observation. When my proteins and blood work came back perfectly normal, they sent me home with a prescription for blood pressure medicine and an order to do 24-hour urine tests and pre-eclampsia blood work every week until delivery.

Two weeks later, at another regular check-up, my blood pressure was still elevated after being on a double dose of the blood pressure medicine, so they sent me to triage and admitted me again. I was in for 72 hours at that point, with no plan to deliver the baby even though I had made it to 37 weeks. One of my doctors said that we would do an amniocentesis the following Wednesday (December 15th) and if Logan’s lungs were mature, they would induce me the following morning at 3am.

I went in for the amnio, which had to be done twice, and the end result was that Logan’s lungs were not developed enough to deliver early. I was given the choice to do another amnio in a week (December 22nd) to check again and then be induced the following day, or to wait until we had reached 39 weeks and deliver on December 28th or 29th without another amnio. The Hubs and I decided to go ahead and do the second amnio to try to have Logan delivered before Christmas.

On December 22nd, The Hubs and I went in for the follow-up amnio, which was to be done by my primary doctor who was finally back in the country after being out of the country for most of my pregnancy. Luckily, she was going to be in charge of my care from that point forward, since I couldn't stand the other doctors that had taken her place. She came in to do the amnio, but ordered another growth ultrasound first, saying that if he was “too big”, they would recommend a c-section be done soon. We did the growth ultrasound and Logan was estimated to be at 9 pounds 3 ounces, so she very strongly recommended we do a c-section at 39 weeks without going through another amnio that day. The Hubs and I were heart broken at the thought of having to do a c-section and not being able to have Logan the “regular” way, but we decided that it was what was best for Logan’s and my health. We were scheduled to come in at 9am on Sunday, December 26th for the c-section. Once we had the time and date, we called all the grandparents and gave them the information so that they could plan to be there for the birth.

Later on that same day, I had to go back to the office for a regular check-up. The Hubs and I were thinking that we already had the c-section planned for that Sunday, so we didn’t bother packing up all the things that we would need for the hospital stay. At the appointment, my blood pressure sky-rocketed to 196/110 and the doctor made the decision to send me to triage and then admit me, saying that Logan would be born either that night or the following morning, since my blood pressure was not responding to the two medications they had me on.

Once in triage, they took blood and a urine sample to be tested. If the lab work came back badly, we would be doing an emergency c-section that night. If the lab work came back fine, we’d be doing the c-section at 8 am the next morning (December 23rd). The Hubs and I were so relieved to know that there was a real end in sight! He left the hospital to go home and pick up all of our stuff while I waited in triage for my lab results.

My results came back fine (as they always did, proving that I just suffered from Pregnancy Induced Hypertension and not Pre-eclampsia) so the plan was made for us to be admitted to the hospital and have my c-section at 8 am Thursday, December 23rd. The Hubs made it back to the hospital (an hour and a half round trip) and I was admitted to a Labor and Delivery suite to wait out the night and call the grandparents with the new plan. They put in my IV and hooked me up to fluids that night, and our amazing nurse, Sarah, made the night so much less stressful than I thought it would be.

Close to 8 am the following morning, they took me to the operating room to start my epidural. The anesthesiologist was amazing, and only had to try once to place it. The epidural procedure itself was very strange, and it felt like Velcro being ripped apart in my spine, but didn’t hurt. Shortly after, my legs started going numb and tingly, and felt like they were placed in buckets of ice water from the inside out. They laid me down on the table and placed the curtain up in front of my face so that I couldn’t see anything. After a few minutes, they started talking about beginning the surgery so I asked for The Hubs. He came in shortly after and sat by my head.

I couldn’t feel anything the whole time, not even any tugging or pulling. The only thing that ever scared me was at the beginning of the process. I started feeling the epidural in my chest and couldn’t tell if I was breathing or not. I had to tell myself to breathe in and out so that I knew I was still breathing. I told the anesthesiologist and she did something that fixed the problem.

The Hubs took video and still pictures throughout the whole surgery, and the anesthesiologist told him that she would tell him when they were about to pull Logan out so he could get pictures. Once they pulled Logan out of me, he got pictures and video, and we both cried. Logan was born at 8:40 am, weighed 10 pounds even, and was 21 inches long. The Hubs followed Logan over to the warmer where there was a team of doctors on hand to make sure that he was healthy. They had to remove some fluid from his lungs, and he scored 6 and 9 on his one and five minute APGARS.

Minutes after birth.

10 pound Christmas Turkey

It seemed like it took forever for them to finish stitching me up, but it didn’t matter to me because Logan was out safely. Once they were finished with me, they moved the three of us to a recovery room for a couple of hours. The BFF was the first person other than us to hold Logan, and then shortly after, some of the grandparents got to see him.

Mama and Bubbers

Logan spent the vast majority of his first Christmas Eve sleeping because he had had his circumcision, Hepatitis B Vaccine, and PKU test all done that day. It was a rough Christmas Eve for him. We promised him that Santa would bring him a day where he didn’t get pulled out of a uterus, stuck with a needle, or operated on for Christmas.

Christmas Eve Grinch

The Hubs started our Christmas tradition of reading ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve, and we went to bed. On Christmas Day, they let us go home (24 hours early), and like crazy people, we drove an hour and a half north to visit The Hubs' family and then 2 hours back south to visit my family for Christmas. With a two-day old. And did I mention that I had no pain medication because no pharmacies were open on Christmas Day? Yeah, it was fun.

Ready to head home!

But it has been totally worth it all. The hard pregnancy, the hospital stays, the c-section, every bit of it. Having Logan has been the most challenging, but most fun experience I've ever had, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Now, if you read that whole thing, give yourself a pat on the back from Bubber Man.

Oy!

I miss you guys! I'll be back soon, I promise!

For now, how about a picture of the fam? (Logan was 3 months old in this picture, he's almost 6 months old now).