Just Asking: Why Do “They” Get To Be Chubby And Not Us?

Peep the cute tennis dress! (And those thighs!)

Just now, as I was returning home from drop-off (unless there’s a storm brewing, we’re walkers; it’s one of our key bonding times), I ran into my neighbor, her daughter and the daughter’s insanely adorable, fantastically chubby baby.

OMG, it was all I could do to keep my mitts off that meaty little guy. Immediately upon making his acquaintance, I asked him:

“Tell, me, how many perfect strangers try to pinch your thighs on a daily basis?”

Rather rudely, he didn’t answer.

Of course, the fact that he doesn’t speak yet may have something to do with his callous disregard of good manners and neighborly interactions.

I may – and yet I may not – cut him slack. I haven’t decided yet.

In the meantime, I’ll be turning my attention to the state of my own chubby thighs.

Trust me when I tell you that no one is longing to pinch them.

Well, maybe my husband.

Maybe my husband.

Remember my Lent sugar embargo? Total bitch, but man was it good for my bod.

I don’t think my waist, tush and legs have looked that svelte in decades.

Yet despite that, I’ve stupidly started eating sugar again. Whyyyyyyyyy????

Why would I start doing something again that makes me both look and feel terrible?

Time to get back to dessert-ditching and diving into my I Quit Sugar book.

(Not the I Quit Sugar Cookbook, though; I bought that too and found it completely militant and overwhelming in a “make a hearty stew out of every table scrap and mystery ingredient in your pantry!” kinda way. Momover Lady is a beginner cook; for now, mystery is not her friend in the kitchen.)

Although I’ve fallen off the sugar bandwagon, all is not utterly lost.

Why?┬áBecause I’ve also started working with a personal trainer – Matt Gardner of BodyRush Fitness – and he’s helping me firm up the jiggly bits and pieces that all my tennis-ing is getting to.

I’m very fit because of my tennis, and the occasional running I also do.

So that helps me with endurance when I’m training with Matt.

But it doesn’t jack to prevent me from massive soreness post-workout. The first time I trained with him was on a Friday, and by Saturday evening, I could barely walk.

Seriously, I was wincing as I was standing, sitting down and kneeling during Mass. And later at dinner, I had to lower myself almost sideways to hit the banquette at the restaurant.

I would have laughed if I weren’t in so much frigging agony.

Wait: I just realized that I’ve lost the entire point of this post.

Here it is:

1. Memorial Day Weekend is right around the corner.

2. We’ve been invited to a paddle-boarding party, and swimsuits are involved.

3. I’m panicking because I’ve been eating sugar again and I feel chubby.

4. Chubby = Cool for babies. Uncool for supermamas.

5. Life isn’t fair.

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