Love handles

Raise your hand if you eat your kid's Halloween candy. Go ahead. You know you do it. A few days ago I saw Jason eye balling Marin's candy bag and I shouted, "I call the milkduds!" There is literally so much candy in my house right now, it's insane. And the main trick or treating doesn't even start for another two hours.

During a recent lunch with my BFF, I mentioned that it turns out that I might have to actually exercise to lose the rest of my stubborn baby weight. Ugh. Major bummer. Especially because I don't own a gym membership, nor am I dying to take the time to work out during the very small window of time that I have to relax in the day- which is after both girls are asleep, and I am usually blissfully sitting next to my hubby on the couch, mindlessly shoveling cookies in my mouth. Oh yeah, that could be another reason I remain plumper than normal.

It's not like I just sit around on my duff all day. In fact, I rarely sit at all except to maybe write this blog and feed Emilie. And even that's not guaranteed. We walk everywhere when even remotely possible and I climb the darn stairs what feels like 1,000 times a day. Yet, you can literally grab fistfuls of fat at my waistline. Fistfuls. That's not good. Why are they called love handles, anyway? Is the fluffy name supposed to pull at our feminine heart strings and make us feel better about being fat? It's not working for me. You could call them cuddly little puppy handles. A fistful is a fistful. And I've got 'em.

I know, I know... I just had a baby, and I shouldn't be so hard on myself.... blah, blah, blah. I already know all that, and I'm not feeling even a second sorry for myself, and I'm certainly not asking you to. I just wish that I could blink my eyes and have Michelle Obama's arms and Reese Witherspoon's body. Is that too much to ask?

What's that? Oh, they both work their a's off for their bodies? Shoot. Don't moms go through enough to carry, birth and raise the baby? Shouldn't that warrant some kind of automatic free pass at the waistline? Like, "Oh, thank you for bringing a child into this world. From here forward you are allowed to eat limitless Reese's peanut butter cups, and never gain a pound!" How great would that be? One can dream. But it is a stretch, so I guess that means if I no longer want my rear to sprawl the width of the mirror when I am occasionally brave enough to turn and look, I am going to have to change some habits. And if I want to banish my muffin top, I guess I'm going to have to eat fewer cookies.

But at least Halloween is nearly over. Just in time for a holiday dedicated to a meal, and another one right behind it laced with cookies. Shoot again.