Flab-solutely Terrific

I don't like to exercise. At all. Ever. I mean, given the option between exercising and having someone poke me in the kidney with an icicle, I'd be hunting down the nearest icicle. And up until now, I really haven't had to do much in the way of dedicated exercise. I am used to being a thin person, the kind of person whose BMI is always on the edge of "underweight."

So you can imagine my unhappiness when, almost a year after having a baby, I still have a pooch. I very honestly thought that all the baby weight would just kind of go away on its own. And truth be told, the baby WEIGHT has gone away, but apparently, the distribution of skin and, um, poochiness on my body is forever changed. So I've been exercising.

So far? I see no difference. Now granted, it's only been two weeks, but here's the thing. Not only do I not see any noticeable difference when I look in the mirror, but when I step on the scale, I've actually GAINED a couple of pounds. McMoose tries to make me feel better by saying that it's because I'm gaining muscle, but let's be perfectly honest here. It's not muscle. It's the extra slice of cake I justified by saying "Oh, I work out now. I can have two desserts!"