Heavy breathing is involved. I lie on the bed thinking - one more try. I raise up my diaphragm, point my toes and and hold my breath. Can I do it? I wiggle, squeeze, sigh and curse and still it alludes me. The holy grail of the moment.
Buttoning up my skinny jeans. The ones I fitted into back in January - when I was 8 pounds lighter than I am now. Enough. Enough celebrating all things cake. Enough enjoying toast and peanut butter, muffins - even if they are offering a free one at starbucks on Monday - 'sweet treats' and helping Sproglet finish dessert, ice cream at the movies. ENOUGH. I have a whole wardrobe that is calling me, begging me to return to it. There is only a small portion of my wardrobe that I can actually fit into these days and boy am I bored of it.
Thus the bed contorting. The infinite hope that I will get into those friggin jeans, I will damn you, I will.
So a new life beckons me. By tomorrow we will have a TV set up in the basement opposite the evil exercise bike. A box set of the West Wing combined with a liberal dose of determination, a ban on all things well, tasty and a few protein shakes later - I will be in those jeans. Watch this - presently large and soon to be small - space.
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