Golden Girls Attack Of The Droopy Flesh Monster, Part Deux

This post is a mish-mash if there ever was one.

First, I got to see Erin and W and meet the adorable babies!  They were simply scrumptious!  (The twins, that is.  Although Erin and her hubby aren't chopped liver either!).  But it was a great visit and I'm happy they're all doing so well.

Second, your answers to my last post were HI-larious.  And by 'Hi-larious' I mean completely depressing and discouraging.  WHA?  The Awning is here to stay unless I somehow convince BeBop to spend the babies' future college fund money on a tummy tuck??  Well, if that's the way it's gotta be.

Mama can't be expected to drag the Awning around forever, can she?  I mean, it practically needs its own seat on an airplane and that just wouldn't make any financial sense, right?

Sort of related to the Awning is the fact that I (ME!  WATSON!!) signed up — willingly! — for an exercise boot camp that meets every morning at 6:00 AM.  Can you imagine?  I don't know what possessed me, honestly.  This really is the last thing I would ever do.

I hate getting up early, I hate jamming all my thanks-for-nothing-twins folds of skin into tight contraptions like jog bras, I hate exercising, I hate exercising in front of people.  I think I was temporarily abducted by aliens and the pod-like creature they sent to occupy my body while they probed me went on-line and used my credit card to register me for this torture they call boot camp.

And not that it's about comparing yourself to others and judging (EXCEPT THAT IT IS!!) I just didn't want to be the biggest or the slowest in the group.  I am not the biggest, but Sweet Lord in Heaven I am the slowest.  There is another new Mom in the group and the first day we befriended one another because everyone else in the group has been taking this boot camp for, oh, like YEARS.  Great.  So we bonded over the fact that having babies is hard and we're both so out of shape and YAY!  I thought,  she's  got to be slow too.  Only then two days later as she was sprinting past me she let it slip that although her baby is only three months old, she's been running with him in a jogging stroller.  Whore.

We had to do assessments on Wednesday and I was so on the short bus that day.  We had to run a lap, then run a lap jumping rope and then do the whole thing over again.  And we were timed.  Did it bring back horrific memories of junior high PE class, when the teacher thought I got my period three times a month because I was always claiming I had cramps and couldn't participate?  Why yes.  Yes it did.  I think I had a flashback and was suffering post traumatic stress disorder (OHMYGAWD my hair is not feathering correctly today and Ricky is asking
someone else to the dance and my yearbook assignment is late and I just have to have Survivor's new 45 Eye of the Tiger and LIFE
IS LIKE SO TOTALLY OVER KILL ME NOW), but I still  had to run and then try to RUN WHILE JUMPING ROPE.  Jesus H. Christ.  If I couldn't manage that when I was twelve what on Earth would give them the idea I could do it now?

My first attempt at running with the jump rope was so pathetic, in fact (picture a baby cow being roped by a cowboy, only a lot less graceful) that the coach took pity on me and gave me the Special Jump Rope. For Special Kids, if you know what I mean. It had plastic bead-like things instead of just a thin plastic rope and I guess the idea is that it's heavier and therefore easier. 

MY ASS.

But I stumbled and tripped my way through four friggin' laps and everyone else was done a good five minutes before I was. Was it humiliating? You bet it was.  Did I care?  Well…kinda.

Remember the Horribly Embarrassing Swimming Experiment of 2006?  I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.

I can blame it on the Awning, I think. Each time the Awning and I get out of the shower I am traumatized.  Each time I lay on my side and the Awning flops down next to me, I am shocked, SHOCKED! at the amount of extra flesh that accompanies me everywhere I go.

Speaking of extra flesh, and really? who doesn't LOVE talking about extra flesh (am I right?) another super fun by-product of the pregnancy are these new, uh, folds of skin I have.  On the plus side The Girls  are still bigger.  The downside is that I now have to worry about boob sweat.  This phenomenon was new to me. And not a welcome addition I might add.  So between the boobs kind of folding over on themselves and the Awning, I now have to…powder my folds. 

Yes, I said it:  POWDER MY FOLDS. With baby powder.  And God only knows what else is under there…spare change?  BeBop's missing cell phone charger? Jax's 12,000 pacifiers that have mysteriously disappeared?

Could this post get any more disgusting?

Actually knowing me, it could get a lot more disgusting so let's just leave it at that. I will try to post more about boot camp, either here on my new-fangled Twitter thingey (which of course I can barely figure out) so that I will risk public humiliation if I puss out and quit boot camp before the four weeks are over.

But come to think of it, this blog (and actually my entire life)  is just a long series of humiliating experiences strung together so that might not seem like incentive, but at this point I'll take anything I can get.

And on a totally unrelated, really random tangent, you know those t-shirts or bumper stickers that say things like: Mountain Climbers Do It Up High or Scuba Divers Do It Under Water or Truckers Do It Long Distance…remember those, like from the 80s when everything was tacky and not at all PC, remember?  Well, I'm going to make a t-shirt for twin Moms that says:  Twin Moms Do It Wait What Was I Talking About

And that, my friends, really is a mish-mash, just like I warned you.