Guess what guys? I’m fat. I can blame it on the Clomid, or the progesterone, or the stress of IF, or sitting on the couch watching WAY too many episodes of
Honey Boo Boo Grey’s Anatomy, eating ice cream sandwiches carrot sticks and celery. But the fact is, I’ve gotten a little too rotund around the midsection. I haven’t been to the gym in months. My stomach looks like I’ve been excessively hitting the keg stands and then running out to Taco Bell for a burrito afterwards.
I am 167 pounds. I figure I talk so freely about my lady business, what’s a little talk about how fat Risa is? I need to lose weight. I need to eat better. I am a nurse. I know exactly how to be healthy. But when I am on hormones; and depressed; and limited to low-impact exercises several days a month so I don’t twist one of my big-ass Clomid-induced ovaries, sending me to the hospital to surgery, and making me more infertile and pathetic than I already am, it’s really hard to think about working out and talk about a run-on sentence (GAWDputaperiodintherebitch!).
So… I’m going to lose weight. And I am making it embarrassingly public so everyone can hold me to it and call me the fat kid or something if they see my lumpy ass in real life.
Plus, it can’t hurt from a fertility stand point, right? See how I did that? Bring in something unrelated like Taco Bell and my fatness and then relate it to fertility. Genius. Good night, friends.