Friday musings

Terrible. Just terrible. That was basically the forecast for this winter and yet, on Dec. 30, it was 37 degrees when I headed out for a 4-mile run this morning. It was glorious. The weather, that is. The run ... not so much. Two middle of the night feedings and a 4:45 a.m. wake-up call will do that to a girl.

By the way, if the late start to the terrible weather means that it is going to be cold for my April birthday, I may have to kill someone.

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I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, and I'm currently reading "Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover If Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer." It's a weight loss memoir of sorts by one of my favorite authors, Jen Lancaster. I'm about 49 percent in (thanks, Kindle) and I'm loving it. It's snarky and relate-able all at the same time.

 "But ever since I made the decision to drop a few pounds-way less easy than it sounds, by the way-I've become obsessed with my size and in so doing I've inadvertently allowed my inner critic to have a voice. And you know what? She's a bitch. Like now when I see my underpants in the laundry, I no longer think Soft! Cotton! Sensible! Instead I hear her say, 'Damn, girl, these panties be huge.'”

Of course, it's not all laughs. There are some inspiring moments in there, too.

“As I paddle along, I slowly become aware that it's been fear keeping me out of this pool for so many years. I never came here before because I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself by not having the endurance to complete a lap. The swimming wasn't what scared me; failure was. My fear locked me in a state of arrested development for so many years. Fear kept me from tackling my weight, which I understand has simply been symptomatic of my greater fear, growing up. I glide down the lane on my back and reflect on how good I feel right now. It's not because I've lost more than thirty pounds. I feel incredible because I've stopped being afraid.”

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Salt and vinegar almonds are delicious. As is popcorn, grapes and my Unstuffed Green Pepper Soup. All of which I've nibbled on in the past hour. If I didn't know any better, I would think I was pregnant again.

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Last night, I did week one of Jillian Michaels' "Ripped in 30" in my my sweet new workout space. Sure, it's in the basement, which happens to be unfinished, and it smelled vaguely of dog urine because Denali thinks it's his new toilet. Oh, and the concrete is a bit tough on the feet but it beats doing butt kicks in front of Mark as he plays Angry Birds on his iPad.

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It's my Monday morning ritual: After I've finished nursing Miles, I plod upstairs to the bathroom and weigh myself. It's been a relatively pleasant experience since I've quit Weight Watchers but I was a bit nervous this week. You know, having eaten a pound of cheese and four 10 million Triscuits on Christmas. I was so nervous that it took me five days to finally step on the scale.

You know what? I lost a half-pound! Huzzah! I guess it goes to show that staying active is key to avoiding holiday bloat.

Now to just get through this weekend ...

Who has exciting plans to share with me? Really. Share. I beg you because this girl is certain to be in bed when the ball drops unless Miles decides it's time for a snack.