What are you looking at?

Good-bye, cold lunchmeat. See you in February 2009.

So, over the last couple of weeks, I've kind of been making a big deal over the possibility of being pregnant (again). At first it was fun, something to blog about for Parents that didn't make me out to be an angry dog hater, but I didn't really think it was true. Apparently nobody else did, either. I heard the DUH in comments from some of my readers. "You KNOW your cycle can take a while to get back on track, right?" they said. Which, hey, I'm with you. Surely FIVE negative pregnancy tests can't be wrong.

Except they totally can, because according to my blood test? I'm having a baby.

It's probably safe to assume Luke will never touch me again. No need to worry about number three.

Kara is unimpressed.

Silly Mommy. You've really gone and done it now.

It's going to be OK, right? I mean, I KNOW it's going to be OK, birthing two children fourteen months apart and having to buy a house and upgrade our car and save for doctor's visits and hospital bills and maternity leave (oh, my God, my boss is totally going to think I'm a nympho) and recover from two c-sections in two years and deal with morning sickness and round ligament pain and breastfeeding AGAIN. I know people do more with less. And really, I am so happy. So very, very happy.

But still.

Tell me it's going to be OK.

Apparently five home pregnancy tests CAN be wrong!

When visiting the phlebotomist at my ob/gyn's office yesterday, I couldn't sit still. "It's OK," she joked as she grabbed my arm to keep it steady. "It's going to be just fine."

And I really did think it would be. I walked to my car and drove home and picked up Luke and Kara so we could meet the realtor who will help us buy our first home. I figured I would call the office in the morning to confirm my negative pregnancy test and finally get on with my life already.

But at 8:30 a.m., the results weren't in. "It usually takes 24 to 48 hours," droned the receptionist, not understanding my urgency. "We'll call you."

WTF?

As I was packing up for the day, I decided to call one more time. Because HELL NO was I waiting until Monday.

I’m pretty sure it was the same receptionist, because once again, she acted like finding out whether or not I had a human being in my uterus wasn't that big a deal and didn't she say they would call when they had news?

(She didn't say that. But I know she was thinking it. Bitch.)

I heard shuffling of papers.

"Well, the test came up positive, but we didn't check your levels, so…"

My stomach dropped. "Excuse me?"

"The test is positive."

"The test is positive?"

"Yes." She sounded slightly annoyed. Women get knocked up every day; what's one more, right?

And then I was grabbing my purse and hauling ass out of work as fast as my legs could carry me because I knew I was going to cry and I didn’t want anyone to see.

By the time I got to my car, I was hysterical. Perfect time to tell Luke.

"Hello?"

"HONEY?"

"Yeah?"

"I'M PREGNANT," I wailed.

"OK… Honey, are you OK?"

"I'M SO HAPPY I’M SO HAPPY."

And I was.

My doctor called last night. The plan is to schedule a full work-up in about three weeks. Because I've only had one cycle since Kara was born, and because I still haven't scored positive on a pee stick yet, we need some help with an exact due date. My guestimate? Is February.

I suppose we’ll need a lot of help until then.

----

Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2008 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

It all started with jelly beans.

Luke and I were at Super Target yesterday, stocking up on important items like diapers, frozen dinners, and hand soap, when we happened to drive through the candy section, specifically the Jelly Belly section, where dozens of miniscule beans bedazzled me with their array of brilliant colors, almost like a rainbow, and suddenly I was overcome with desire for Red Apple Jelly Bellys. "I'll just have a handful every now and then," I promised as I tossed the sack into my cart. "After all, they're fat free!"

Now, at my Super Target, the candy aisle is adjacent to the potato chip aisle, and a variety of Baked Lays beckoned from their place on the end cap. "I'll just have some with lunch," I pledged as I debated between barbeque and cheddar and sour cream. "After all, they're baked!"

Famous last words.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I had consumed approximately twenty points worth of Jelly Bellys, three servings of chips, one Weight Watchers ice cream sandwich, a bowl of Cocoa Krispies, three Fig Newtons, and my weight in defiance, tired of counting points, measuring portions, and turning down a cup of milk with dinner because I'd rather spend the points on cookies (the Weight Watchers ones, of course). It didn't help that today I was home from work, which meant instant access to all things guilt-inducing and an afternoon of Beverly Hills, 90210, the first season, because it was on sale for twenty bucks. (Remind me sometime to talk about how this show has seriously warped my impression of raising teenagers; also, how Jim Walsh is pretty much, "Way to go, son, just use a rubber" with Brandon after he lays his first girlfriend but will fuhREAK out later when Brenda does the nasty with Dylan. Sexism, it is a bitch!). So for now I'm enjoying the goodies and promising to get back on the saddle tomorrow.

Binge eating aside, it's been a wonderful weekend, the highlight of which was a trip to the Indianapolis Zoo. It was Kara's first time, and our first real outside activity as a family (walks around the complex don't count), and as the three of us made our way from the parking lot to the front entrance, all I could say was, "This is what I've always wanted."

The outing was inspired in part because Indy has a few koalas on loan for the summer, so that was the first place we went. Did you know that because koalas live on eucalyptus, a food that's shockingly low in nutrition, they spend anywhere from eighteen to twenty-two hours A DAY asleep? Thus, to capture one awake and on camera was quite a feat. Way to go, Luke.

Next were the seals, where we hung for about an hour because our stop there coincided with Kara's next bottle and she was taking her sweet little time. But eventually she finished, and Luke scooped her up to give her an up-close-and-personal view, and watching them, my heart melted.

As if THAT weren't precious enough, the oceans exhibit was even better, as Kara's eyes were drawn to the brightly colored fish just inches from her nose. It was amazing to see her smile as various forms of sealife crossed her path and Luke beam with pride as he pointed out their features. He's always had a soft spot for nature and animals, so I know this trip was especially meaningful for him.

Of course, I had my turn, too, and took great delight in identifying giraffes, elephants, and monkeys, all of which we see in our favorite bedtime book.

Apparently Kara's hands were far more appealing than posing for a happy shot with Momma.

But not for Daddy!

I could eat them up, I love them both so much.

Afterwards, Luke and I spent some time watching Juno, and when it comes to that movie, I don't know what to say. The dialogue was a cross between Dawson's Creek and every Kevin Smith film I've ever seen, only less believable, but really, it was the act of watching the main characters navigate through the adoption process that brought me to tears, because I couldn't imagine my life without Kara. I felt a new kind of hurt for the moms who choose this process, for whatever reason.

The soundtrack, on the other hand? Totally awesome.

-------

Check out my latest post on Parents, wherein I contemplate family size.

More options than an Old Country Buffet

While I was busy debating how to address my high school reunion, surprisingly, life carried on. Here's just a sampling of what's been occupying my time:

Great Aunt Flo Watch of 2008
Geez, you might be thinking, is she really still talking about this? Hell, yes, I'm still talking about this, today is day 55 of my cycle and still not a word from that bitch Aunt Flo. I took another test when I came home from work this afternoon because my stomach felt jittery before lunch, but alas, still negative, my fourth one since Mother's Day weekend. It's not so much that I'm freaked out about maybe having children THIRTEEN MONTHS APART, HOLY CRAP, but more like dying of curiosity; however, even that attitude isn't doing me any good, so I've decided to just sit tight until I'm presented with either two pink lines or a bloodbath in my underwear. I've been cramping on and off for days, and my gut feeling is that I'm not pregnant, but my gut also told me I would deliver Kara before her due date, possibly without drugs, and we all know how that went down.

While waiting for the latest test to register, Luke jokingly asked if there was a way to jumpstart my period. "If you can speed up labor, why not this?" he said.

Indeed.

Weight Watchers
Today marks week three of Weight Watchers 2.0, and things are going...okay. I've not been as dedicated as I was the first time around, so there were several incidents involving pancakes, bacon, and chicken strips, but I've lost 4.2 pounds to date--almost two pounds since last week--and that's not a bad thing. I've really enjoyed the ability to track my eating habits and calculate Points values online; it was through the Web site that I learned one point plus one point doesn't necessarily equal two. As in, three of the Weight Watchers one-point chocolate chip cookies are five points, not three, and I'm not sure why that is, exactly, but being off by a couple of points each day definitely makes a difference on the scale. I just discovered this gem a few days ago, and my newfound knowledge is bound to make a positive impact on next week's weigh-in.

I will say that I participated in a free health risk assessment at work the other day, and baby weight aside, I'm much healthier than I originally thought. In 2005 I was diagnosed with high cholesterol, and my efforts to bring it down were half-hearted at best. I was pregnant for most of 2007, and pregnancy raises cholesterol, so it wasn't until now that I was in a position to retest. I'm happy to report that all of my levels are in the optimal or near-optimal range, and I can breathe a little easier knowing I've reduced my risk for heart disease. It was in taking that test that I realized I'm doing Weight Watchers for more than just the weight loss. I've had an effed-up mentality regarding food for years, and I want to put my best foot forward and engage in a healthier lifestyle. I want Kara to look at me and see a strong role model for making good choices about food and exercise, and I want her to think that it's easy. I don't want her to use food to get attention, like I did when I made myself throw up for three weeks in junior high. I don't want her to obsess over supposed imperfections or compare herself to peers with drastically different body types or run to food whenever she needs comfort. But if I want that for her, I have to want it for me, too. And I do.

But hot damn, do I miss my spinach dip.

It's not all bad, though. I've been doing a little more in the kitchen, and on Tuesday night I used my Take Five! cookbook, a collection of Weight Watchers recipes with only five main ingredients, to make Pita Pizzas for five points a piece. And they were delicious. Isabel, you bonafide pizza lover you, they will not disappoint. I promise.

House
After months of hemming and hawing and pouring over Excel spreadsheets to make sure we are really in a financial position to do this, Luke and I took our first major step in becoming homeowners and mailed off an application to the Indianapolis Neighborhood Housing Partnership, a non-profit that helps first-time owners secure their first house. Now, Luke and I both have excellent credit (quick shout-out to myfico.com, where we purchased our credit reports and Fico scores from all three bureaus for forty-five bucks a piece), so we don't need to go through an agency to make this happen, but the INHP has relationships with banks throughout the city that will offer loans without requiring a down payment OR private mortgage insurance to qualified buyers. Plus, I took a (free!) intro-to-home-buying class last spring that they sponsored at a local university, and it was very infomative. It certainly couldn't hurt to see what they can offer us.

Our lease on this apartment is up at the end of July, but we'll definitely need more time then that to get our act together, so the plan is to switch to a month-to-month lease and close on a property sometime in September. We won't start looking until we've been pre-approved by a lender, which should allow us to move forward relatively quickly once we've found the house of our dreams. Luke and I are beyond excited about being able to do this and STILL have someone home with Kara. I know how lucky we are and I thank God every night for it.

My Gorgeous Baby
Kara turned five months old on Saturday, and she is taking the world by storm: scooting backwards, becoming more vocal, and as of Sunday, experimenting with rice cereal. She won't entertain more than a few spoonfuls before she's pushing away the spoon, but she's extremely interested in everything on our plates, so this is a good place to start.

Plus, she looks absolutely adorable in her high chair.

She continues to hold herself up really well and can sit unsupported for about ten minutes before toppling over like a house of cards.

She's also still snacking on her fingers and toes with passionate abandon.

So, to sum up, things are going really well right now, even if I feel a little like I'm burning the candle at both ends. Work is extremely busy, and I'm helping with a baby shower for my sister Samantha in June, which means invites needed to go out like, yesterday, and writing for Parents always keeps me on my toes. (Not sure why me wanting to clean my daughter's toes from a strange dog's germs is basis for telling me to relax, as if I couldn't wait to dip her foot in bleach or something, or why not wanting my five-month-old baby to be approached by a dog I don't know means I'm afraid of all dogs all the time, but whatever.) Sure, there are times I'm afraid of passing out behind the wheel, but really, what's a good night's sleep, anyway?

I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

You might also like to know that I once wore part of my uniform in a self-directed parody of "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time"

Two weeks ago I went to my ten-year high school reunion. In the days leading up to what I believed would be a life-changing event, I tried to find time to write this really insightful piece about how much I loved high school and how those four years contributed to the person I am today and how grateful I was to attend an all-girls private school and how I never minded the uniforms because I didn't know how to dress myself and how much I appreciated being exposed to different cultural and religious backgrounds and how college was a slap in the face because more than half of the (white bread) student body was going on Mommy and Daddy's dime and how one of my friends drove around campus in a BMV she got as a graduation present while I peddled on a ten-speed bicycle that was stolen two months into my freshman year.

But then life got in the way, and also a new episode of Lost, so instead I decided to wait until the reunion had passed, allowing me to reflect on the relationships I formed as a teenager and which ones held up and which ones I outgrew and how at 18 my life goals included becoming a campus minister and driving a "sporty, zippy thing" (thank you, senior memory book) and maybe having children, "but I'm not making it a goal," and how never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined just how wonderful my life would be, not to mention how very proud I would be of my new family.

But then I actually WENT to the reunion, where only seven members of my class even bothered to show up, and it took the wind right out of my sails. I went on to cover a couple of more important topics, but still I came back to my reunion, determined to capture the essence of lil' Frema's character, to the point that I was afraid of posting anything else because my reunion, my reunion, my ten-year high school REUNION, I must do it justice, even if nobody cares about it but me.

And now? Now we are two weeks out, and the Frema-Useless Clutter household is currently engaged in the Great Aunt Flo Watch of 2008. Waxing poetic about the time I used to crank call toll-free counseling hotlines while waiting for the train will just have to wait.

Seriously, high school was special to me, and I will talk more about it someday. Until then, here is a picture of me standing at the bottom of a staircase next to blue and gold balloons. Pretend I said something witty, and then compliment my hair.

Closer to Free

Geez, where have I been? You would think I have a full-time job and a family to tend to. Hmmm.

I'm working on a post about my high school reunion, but today is Luke's and my second wedding anniversary, so it's only right that I take some time to talk about marriage after two years in the trenches.

In the weeks and months before my wedding, I was a nervous wreck. I loved Luke and wanted to be with him, but I was also afraid. Afraid of having to negotiate who I was (long-time readers will remember how conflicted I was over changing my denomination), afraid of being a selfish wife, afraid that my ambitious nature would eventually clash with Luke's tendency to go with the flow. But second-guessing is a part of who I am. I keep one foot in the moment and the other on the fence, always looking for the first sign of trouble, searching for a sign that something is not meant to be.

But on May 12, 2006, standing in front of our pastor as the wind wrapped around our gazebo like a blanket, surrounded by family and friends, I believed our love was enough. I believed our future would be more than worth any hardships that came our way.

And there have been a few, the most significant one thus far being our decision to keep me at work and Luke at home. On paper, it was the best way to achieve all the goals we had for our family, but in my heart, I struggled. The weekend before I went back, there was a lump in my throat that would not go away, a proverbial devil on my shoulder that told me to be angry with Luke for not doing everything in his power to "let me" be a stay-at-home mom, to resent him for positioning me as Breadwinner, a title I never wanted.

I knew marriage would be hard, but only in the broadest sense. For the first time, Hard was tangible.

But I swallowed my tears and bit my tongue and became the person my family needed me to be. It wasn't easy, but here we are, two and a half months later, and there is a rhythm to our life that I never thought possible. Now I am completely sure it was meant to be this way, couldn't work any other way, and both our marriage and our daughter are better for it. It was only after saying good-bye to my preconceived notions of Wife and Mother and letting the good of our family take the lead that I found a level of fulfillment that couldn't have been achieved otherwise.

In the media and in our personal lives, relationships solidify and dissolve like snowflakes that stick to the pavement until the sun melts them away. And now, just two years into marriage, it's easier to understand why. I can't count how many times I've given Luke the cold shoulder over a perceived injustice, content to bask in self-righteousness, only to hang my head in front of him the next morning--unable to meet his eyes, tears running down my face--and stumble through an apology.

It's frustrating to rank second in the interest of the whole. It's embarrassing to say "I'm sorry." It's much easier to scrap the whole thing and start over with someone new.   

At our wedding, I thought love would be the glue that held our marriage together, but now I know it's commitment. Love is easy. People break up all the time and talk about how they still love their exes. Every person has traits worth falling for. But to accept their shortcomings? Forgive when they hurt you without keeping score and STILL be in love? Nothing is more difficult.

Or more rewarding.

When I was senior in college, in a class that placed my faith-based coursework in a wider context, my professor said something that really resonated with me. He said that with each choice you make, you become more free.

On the surface, it seems contradictory--when accepting one path, you inevitably say good-bye to another--but it's through the process of decision making that we open ourselves to advancement. My life with Luke is proof of that, because prior to our wedding, we were in a constant state of flux: should we say "I love you," should we move in together, should we tie the knot. Once we did that last thing, a brand-new set of choices lay before us, more sophisticated than those we contemplated before, but not as fundamental. Suddenly we were concerned with how to manage our careers, where we wanted to live, and when to expand our family.

These days, our jobs are chosen, for now. Housing will soon sort itself out. And we have the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. Now it's time to sort through the details, like saving for college and building retirement and bringing more children into the mix. I don't have to worry about whether or not we'll make it. The alternative is no longer an option.

Happy anniversary, honey.

-------

Visit Parental Discretion Advised to read about Kara's upcoming foray into cereal, my new parenting mantra, and the details of a very special Walgreens trip. You won't be disappointed.

As told by Luke, as played by Steve Martin

This is what happens when you engage in marital relations on day 30 of your cycle without protection, assuming Aunt Flo is just around the corner but realizing two weeks later she is still nowhere to be found.

Scene: Chevy Cobalt, Walgreens parking lot, Northwest Indiana

Bree: So…. Do you want to run in, or should I?

Luke: I don't know.
 
Bree: I should go. I'm the one who's going to pee on the stick, I should be the one to buy it.

Luke: No, I'll do it; you’re already back there with Kara. I'll just be a few minutes.

Bree: Remember, First Response or EPT, and make sure it's a bonus pack.

Luke: OK.

Luke enters Walgreens; stands in entranceway, searching for appropriate aisle. Picture furrowed brows and much head scratching.

Sales Clerk 1: Sir, is there something I can help you find?

Luke: I'm looking for a…

(Still grappling with the possibility of having two children less than a year and a half apart, his mind blanks on the correct terminology needed to verbalize his request)

…birth detection kit?

Sales Clerk 1: Do you mean a prophylactic?

Luke: No! The opposite of that!

Enter Sales Clerk 2.

Sales Clerk 2: Sir, are you talking about birth control?

Luke: No, no! It's too late for that!

Sales Clerk 2: Ooh! You want a pregnancy test!

Luke: Nods frantically, fights urge to smack forehead a la "I could've had a V-8!"

In the end, a First Response bonus pack was indeed purchased, and by Mother's Day morning, both tested negative. But this evening, when toasting to two years of marriage, we used sparkling grape juice instead of wine.

Anytime now, Aunt Flo. Anytime.

-------

Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2008 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

Let Freedom Ring

There is a buzz in Indiana today as Hoosiers flock to the polls; apparently the idea of actually influencing the selection of a party candidate has us all atwitter, because according to the local paper, turnout is more indicative of a general election than a little ole primary.

I hit my polling station on the way to work, and as I parked my car, I realized that for the first time in my entire life, I was truly excited to vote. In fact, it wasn't until very recently that politics meant anything to me at all.

Growing up, the whole function of government seemed a mystery not unlike the Bermuda Triangle. Sure, I took the Constitution test in eighth grade (and passed, lest you deem me a complete moron), and it was interesting enough, but when it came time to apply those principles to the world around me, it was too overwhelming. Hell, I could barely get a handle on basic algebra--there was no way I felt smart enough to talk about the merits of those running for office. My parents are loyal Republicans, and I have memories of watching the news with them at dinnertime, my father complaining about Mayor Daley's latest crime against the Chicago Fire Department, my mother nodding her head in agreement, and I remember feeling slighted on their behalf, too young to do anything but pretend I understood. When I was eight years old, I distinctly remember asking my mom why she didn't like Michael Dukakis and her telling me he wanted to kill babies. Kill babies! I was horrified. Lil' Frema had visions of men in uniforms lined up against a concrete wall, cradling newborns in their arms, each waiting to rid the planet of their vast uselessness.

(And here I must tell you writing that last paragraph was really uncomfortable for me, and in no way do I maintain a cavalier attitude towards abortion, but I'm assuming you all can appreciate my attempt to liven up a hazy childhood memory with the humor that accompanies a child's literal interpretation of a statement way beyond her level of understanding. You got that, right? We're still friends? Good.)

That political naiveté stayed with me into early adulthood. The first time I was eligible to vote was during the 2000 presidential election, but I was attending school in Indiana, and my permanent residence was Illinois, and I didn't know enough about the issues (or care enough, if we're being honest) to request an absentee ballot at the time. I did vote in 2004, at which time I knew enough about politics to label myself a Democrat, but I was only slightly put off by the results, not emotionally invested in John Kerry by any means, and certainly not heartbroken over the outcome.

But now I am different. Now I am motivated by our current state of affairs to want better for my family--specifically, for Kara. Now I follow the news to learn more about the goings-on in my city and surf the Web to become more educated on which candidates best meet my criteria for local and national leadership. Luke and I are currently rooting for Barack Obama, so much so that we seriously considered attending one of his rallies last night, but having a four-month-old baby who wants to be fed and changed and entertained on her terms, not ours, was reason enough to stay home (read: go to Applebee's, where we didn't have to wait in line for two hours and beg for admittance). But we listened to several of his radio interviews, and we watched last month's debate, and we talk constantly about how inspired we are by his vision and his ability to stay gracious under fire.

Also, his winning smile. So dreamy!

 

I like Barack and I cannot lie.

But this post isn't about who I voted for or why (so please don't flame me for my opinion, I have a "Delete" button and I'm not afraid to use it). It's about my new appreciation for the way leaders are chosen in this country and how grateful I am to have a voice in the process. This morning, I almost teared up reflecting on how lucky we Americans are to be able to elect our commander-in-chief (however imperfect the process may be) and support our favorite without fear of repercussion.

And Kara is lucky, too, because finally, she has a mother who cares.

And the branding comes full circle

While preparing for BlogHer last year, I was inspired to order business cards for shameless self-promotion. Many of my online buddies went with Moo cards, charming, wee little things that were quite affordable, but I wanted something with a longer shelf life that painted a broader picture of my literary goals. I wanted a business card that screamed from the rooftops that I AM A WRITER.

Aside from my subscription to TypePad's services, it was the first time I had ever put money towards a writing endeavor, so I enlisted the help of a professional--an Indianapolis graphic design firm I work with for my day job--and I shared my dream for the end result. It was Jenny who came up with the idea of highlighting my constant tendency to scribble, and the final product includes the image you see in my new header. For those of you reading via RSS, here's what you're missing:

I updated my design to better compliment the new art (thanks to PB&J for allowing me to use it on the Web), and voila! My first new template in a year and a half.

I've been racking my brain for months on how to freshen this place up, and I don't know why it took so long to think of mimicking my fancy schmancy business card, but the light bulb finally went off, which means I now have a brand. A consistent brand that reflects who I am and what I do, and that brand is my writing style. Literally. That's my John Hancock up there.

Once again, this change couldn't have come at a better time. The more important this site becomes to me, the more I engage with the local blogging community (I just registered for a two-day BlogIndiana conference that takes place in August), the more I talk up the advantages of corporate blogging at work, the more likely it is to go public. It's inevitable. And when that happens, I want to make sure my best foot is forward and that I'm housing my work in a way that makes me proud, however silly some of it may seem. My previous design was the bomb diggity, but it served its purpose. It was time to move on.

Now, when I'm at my ten-year high school reunion Saturday night, I can give out this URL and not feel like an idiot. Though the dorkitude associated with bringing business cards to such a function will probably cancel that out.

I just joined Weight Watchers Online, God help me

I go ahead and get you guys all fired up about my intent to tackle deeper, more meaningful topics, and yet the next post you read is going to be all about fitness. Which I have written about before, ad nauseum, without showing any real progress.

That's about to change.

Last night, I joined Weight Watchers Online and blew a hundred dollars on a three-month membership, basic starting kit, two cookbooks, and a calculatorish Points-tracking thingie.

When I first hopped on the Weight Watchers bandwagon four years ago in Rensselaer, I attended meetings once a week, documented my food and drink intake with a paper and pen, and used a hand-held slider to calculate Points on the fly. Now, in an effort to save some money, I'm doing it all through their Web site, which has this elaborate set-up for tracking points and searching for recipes and participating on message boards, and I feel a little bit like a ninety-year-old woman who's being asked to send an e-mail for the first time. These new-fangled contraptions are hurting my brain.

But this morning I measured out a cup of Cheerios and a half cup of skim milk topped with sliced banana, and when making my lunch last night I learned I've been scarfing about eight servings of raisins in one sitting every day.

Like I said before, I won't continue with Weight Loss Wednesday because it stresses me out too much, but I will report my progress and let you guys know how I'm doing. Just for posterity, I'm going to tell you that my starting weight is 145 pounds, and my first goal is to lose ten percent of my body weight, which equals to 130.5--just half a pound shy of my overall goal weight (for now). And while I'm not attending meetings, May is Health and Fitness Month at work, and today kicks off our version of the Biggest Loser Challenge, so I will weigh in with our HR director and track my progress via our internal wellness blog, which I launched yesterday (am corporate pioneer!). She's also going to take "before" pictures of those willing to digitally capture how out of shape they are, so I'll drop that into this post this afternoon.

Edited to add on 5/6/08: Finally, finally, here is my "Before" picture (pay no mind to the crazy bush head that will surely one day devour us all, it was pre-trim):

Now I am ready to do this. Now is the time.

Any other Weight Watchers devotees? I know all about Emily's success with the online program (which was actually part of my inspiration to join in the first place), and Kelly signed up last week. Anyone else? And on a related note, exactly how many slices make up two ounces of deli-style lunchmeat?

-------

Footnotes:

Read all about my "dads are not moms" rant and yesterday's car trouble on Parents.

Monday was my blogiversary! Every year I think I'm going to make a big to-do, and every year it passes me by like a fart in the wind (thank you, Shawshank Redemption, for the colorful choice of words). As I refocus on my blog as well as my approach to wellness, the timing of my return couldn't be any more perfect.

Or any less perfect. Really, if I'd been on my game, my subconscious would have known to post on Monday, and then I could be telling you that blogging is so ingrained in my personal core that the good Lord in Heaven inspired me to publish on my big day.

Apparently God isn't much into blogs.

Last but not least, here is a picture of my kid. Luke picked me up from work on Tuesday and dressed her in this super-cute outfit, which about killed my coworkers with adorableness. Can you blame them?