My baby buys me ten points.

September 27, 2006 at 1:03 am (Bloom Status: Upward)

Saints preserve me. I’ve just suddenly joined Weight Watchers! My word, my word. I just went to my first meeting tonight. It’s weird! I feel like I’m on some gritted-down episode of Sex and the City! It feels like an anthropological experiment!


I could call what I got baby weight, and a little of it is, but what I really got is I-quit-smoking-seven-years-ago weight. I used to smoke like a forest fire. My old email address was I was the patron saint of the smokers, the first smoker who came to mind if you were mentally scanning your smoking acquaintances. And eating for me was like, have I eaten enough of this meal that I can quit and begin smoking now? The answer was yes, I have eaten enough. The fork was loaded up a time or two, headed in, came out empty, meal over. Smoked ’em ’cause I had ’em.

I am not ready to publicly tell the tale of how I quit smoking. Another time, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll tell it someday when I feel like I have too much dignity. Suffice it to say that in the spring of 1999, I was forced by circumstance to quit smoking suddenly. When that happened, I happened to be living with my dear friend Elizabeth. Have I mentioned ever that Elizabeth is a great cook? She is a great cook. A GREAT cook. I am not blaming Elizabeth for my weight gain, let me say outright. I blame my own interaction with her blackberry cobbler. After I quit smoking, I was instantly like, why didn’t anybody tell me how great dessert is? Dessert is what dinner is for. And over the course of the next year I gained, oh, 40 pounds. And I’m a five-foot-tall person upon whom 40 pounds is truly not fucking around.

For a long time, I was horrified about my new weight but also I sort of liked it. The new pounds dovetailed with a sort of personal groundedness and relaxedness and confidence that was just then showing up in my being. I was a bit of a nervous nellie during most of my smoking years. My hands trembled and I hated confrontation. I was a shaky little people-pleasing bird, at least inside my brain. And then after the weight went on I began holding my own, somehow. I sort of got here. In the last couple of years, though, some personal stress and my dear wee baby have added fifteen more pounds to the forty-pound-pile, so I’m here, already. I’m here enough. That’ll do, pig.

I’m not saying I’m a pig, by the way. Just referencing Babe there. I think I have…what would be the reverse of body dysmorphia? I don’t look at my body and think it looks worse than it does. I harbor the impression that I’m on the svelte and adorable end of curvy – even though I have thirty pounds to lose to be on the top end of the ideal weight scale for me. I have…body eumorphia. I seriously think I look pretty cute. Cuter than I really look.

At some point in the not-too-distant future, my husband and I would like to have another child. I want to launch the next pregnancy from an actually svelte position. Also, I’m in the process of making a one-person show for myself, and I think it would be groovy to look a little truly cuter while I do it. I would also like to try on pants and be like, hey ya, booty! Shake it, sugar! I would like to look at photographs of myself without thinking there has been some grave mistake somewhere. I pose for photos all hello there! and every time I think that’s going to be a corker and then I see the photo and I’m like, no. Nope. Mm-mm. That isn’t me. Something happened. I think that’s my stand-in.

Weight Watchers is going to be really weird and interesting and good, I think. It’s not my crowd in there. I haven’t met thirty-five of my new best friends. One of the ladies who ran tonight’s meeting…she and I will never be close. Also, the Duchess of York does not go to my meeting, I noticed. It would be excellent if she did. I am going to hope each week that she will be there. I don’t know if I can put into words why I think this is going to work for me. I think it’s just that the program is super-crazy-well-designed. It feels sound, tough, sea-worthy. There are all these mental exercises you do to augment the actual process of eating particular things in particular amounts. I like mental exercises. I am glad to put on my little mental jogging shoes. You can eat a lot of cous-cous. I like cous-cous. Since I’m nursing Finn, I get to eat more stuff every day, so I’m kind of grandfathered in to an abundant version of this whole thing.

What’s weird is that I’m afraid of getting cheekbonier. I’m afraid my personality will get cheekbonier, too. Please just know what I mean about cheekbone-y as a personality trait. Or, dag nab it, I’ll help you. Cheekbone-y = snooty, WASPy, chilly, self-satisfied, smug. I know many people with elegant cheekbones who are not like this at all, but it’s in there, this idea. And I’m afraid that if I lose the weight, I’ll be a nervous nellie again. Or just not me. Not this nice jolly earth mother I’ve sort of become. I like feeling solid and jolly.

Well, I’m just going to have to figure out a way to remain solid and jolly while being simultaneously svelte and dressing-room-y. Leotard-y. Leotardo di Caprio. Leotardo da Vinci. This is all a part of my dream of greatness, so onward about it.

Today: Joined mofoing Weight Watchers, mofos.

Ergo, bloom status: Upward.


  1. Eve said,

    Body eumorphia.OH MY GOOOOOOOD.
    I think I’ve just fallen in love with you all over again.

    This post is too funny for me to be reading right now.

    Tina’s sense of humour + Eve’s phlemy cold + hard laughing= ugly scene

  2. Dorothy said,

    Tina, I fucking adore you.
    You are a fucking genius.
    The joy your posts bring me.
    The license you give me to be myself.
    It’s overwhelming.
    I mean this.
    I do.
    You do it girl. All of it !!!

  3. PJ said,

    I just decided to hire a personal trainer. I have that same deal you talked about. But boy I am not as pleased as I used to be with photos. Sign number one. RE: personal trainer … I need someone that I have to be responsible to. I am not a DIY gal when it comes to my body. I’m a DIY-with-definitive-and-authoritative-taskmaster gal. Power to us, sister. xo Peggy

  4. la Ketch said,

    You should also consider reading the South Beach Diet Book. Which is very good. It’s gives you a lot of really good information about food and it’s very healthy, not like atkins. I found it very helpful. Weight Watchers is great though because of the group and the support. Good luck!

  5. Bob Newhart said,

    I have body eumorphia too. That’s how I found this blog. Googling “body eumorphia.” I guess we made it up. But I need to lose about 40 pounds but I still think I look hot. God damn.

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