Well that may be just a smidge melodramatic. Actually it is T-minus 5 days until the expected arrival of P90X. I have some massive tonnage to lose if I'm going to convince Dr. D and Circle to let my geriatric uterus carry again.....I mean I have some massive tonnage to lose to get down to my prepregnancy weight so I can go about my normal, non-pregnant life. But wait......normal is no longer not-pregnant for me is it? Normal is pregnant with gay mens babies. And for those of you that say I should get a hobby....what the heck would you say if I confessed that helping make families is my hobby. Egads. I have truly become one of those women who don't know how to give up surrogacy.
All kidding aside, however, I do think I am done being a surrogate and I am looking forward to regaining my upper abs. I have always somewhat known that the lower abs are beyond the point of redemption and kind of thought I might instead like to take the pansy way out and get a tummy tuck. That is until a cyber friend had a tummy tuck and had MAJOR complications. No thanks. I will stick with exercise, less chocolate (don't even try to say no chocolate to me people), and a four pack with my c-section shelf conveniently below it. But I digress. I was waxing poetic about my imminent death.
Let me tell you what I know about p90x. Another cyberfriend tells me that p90x makes her incredibly sore. This statement does not sound so scary until you know that this same friend runs marathons as her hobby. Hmmm. I may be in a bit of trouble here. In fact, I may be on the verge of death. See, I am not in shape AT ALL. I thought I remained active throughout the pregnancy with the ESS but it turns out I did a heck of alot of sitting upon my ever expanding arse. Great. Turns out walking slowly does not keep you in shape. Neither does working alot of hours. Ixnay on the whining (which I think should count as cardio personally). So I have four days to get instantly fit. I thought of ordering some "fit in a bottle" magic formula but decided that would take too much effort so I settled for walking daily on my treadmill. I tried running (aka plodding in a slothlike manner) one day but almost put an eye out with the "boobs of death".
What, I haven't mentioned the boobs of death yet? Well let me just say that when you get fat and old and then have a shit load of babies, you develop boobs of death. Immediately postpartum they are even more dangerous because they are full of milk. They hang down (when not full of milk, think tube sock.....I could probably roll these puppies up) and just keep getting longer instead of bigger. Sexy, huh? I have my husband convinced they are HOT. How did I manage to convince him of this? Well once a year I buy him the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and then photshop tube socks in in place of all the women's breasts. He thinks he's sleeping with an up and coming swimsuit model and is the luckiest man on Earth. And yes, I photo-shop in some cellulite also. I can use any help I can get. After all, I have delivered 8 babies now.
So this is my last weekend of being able to sit down without screaming in pain from sore leg muscles. I am celebrating by eating my weight in chocolate on a daily basis. I will keep the cyber world updated on my progress through p90x. If nothing else you can help me pick out a coffin fit for a swimsuit model.