In the spirit of the new year, Darling Husband and I — and most people we know — are in a flurry of let’s-eat-healthier-and-get-more-exercise.
It’s a nice thought, and honestly, I get very healthy-keen every few months, but it only lasts about a week. Then the cookie dough re-enters my life, chewy morsel by chewy morsel.
I’m not a horrible junk foodie, but the second I feel deprived of something, the whole world seems evil. I mean, don’t I deserve such a small happiness? Life’s too short, yada yada.
This year, however, feels different — and yeah, yeah, I know that’s what they all say.
This year, Darling Husband has re-joined the gym, and is afraid of his trainers. They do regular weigh-ins and waist measurements, and because he loves/respects these muscle men, he is determined not to disappoint them.
For a man who believes gummi candy is healthy if it’s fruit-shaped, this is unbelieveable.
Darling Husband has his motivation — not disappointing the Big Strong Trainers — and I have mine: getting healthier for the impending preggosity.
I’d like to get in better physical shape — i.e. get some exercise that doesn’t revolve around necessary things like dog-walking and stair-taking. I also want to eat more vegetables — I’ve heard it’s recommended — and more milk, etc.
Oh, and my doctor has been pushing Folic acid for years, like a … well, like a pusher! I told him, years ago, that I wasn’t planning on getting pregnant for a while, but he was like “Ohh, take it anyway!” Does he get a cut?
Anyway, I do have it, and I am going to take it. Maybe even some kind of regular vitamin. God knows I haven’t had any since the Flintstone ones.
I’m not too sure if most people try to “get healthy” beforehand, but I figure it can’t hurt. Then perhaps my future kidlets will have less of the McNugget gene.