Yes, I’m fucking fat. Yes, fucking, was a necessary adverb. And yes, it’s all my fault.
I’ve never been so fucking fat in my life before. I’d like to take this opportunity to make a list of countless excuses I have used and said to myself to justify the ballooning of my midsection.
1. I don’t have time to meal prep.
2. Healthy food is way, totally, oh-my-god more expensive than junk food.
3. I like my food like I like my sex – Fast, easy, and to the point. Ain’t nobody got time for romance or fancy dinners while you’re running around with kids ALL DAY AND NIGHT.
4. I’m poor. I can’t just dump out all my bad foods. What the hell would I eat?
5. I’m tired.
6. I’ll start after my birthday/anniversary/holiday/random party/every weekend…
7. It’s Friday.
8. Ice cream and chocolate are the only treats I can afford.
9. The toddler is throwing a fit.
10. The toddler is crying.
11. The toddler is itchy.
12. The toddler requests her breast. Yes, I still breast feed. Sue me.
13. The toddler is finally napping.
14. The toddler woke up.
And the list can go on and on…
I need to do something, quick. I can’t keep letting myself go.
And before any wrong ideas start brewing in your head I am not fat-shaming. I am self-shaming.