I blame the tortli

I've never quite returned to my pre-Small Boy weight. Actually, that is not strictly true. I've returned to what I weighed at the 6-week ultra-sound to confirm the pregnancy; I've never returned to the pre-blow-up-like-a-balloon-on-IVF-drugs weight. It's a small thing,actually, a matter of about five pounds that at a slowed-down 38 I can justify carrying around. If I had actually put some serious effort into it I'm sure I could have lost those pounds in 8 weeks. But in my limited pool of Small Boy free time, working out fell low on the list (even though I feel better when I work out, it's good for me, weight matters aside I could stand to be a little more fit because in about a year that little boy is going to be running me ragged) and luxuriating over a latte fell rather high on the list.

It's elementary: sedentary living + full fat lattes = superfluous five pounds.

They're five small pounds, maybe seven if I wanted to be ambitious, and if you didn't know me when I was 25 or 30 or, heavens, 20 when I was a cycling fool and clocked in at - wait for it - 4% body fat, you'd probably think I was maintaining a nice stable weight. Which I am, I guess. I've been the same 5 to 7 pounds overweight for two years. But I'm not used to this body. I'm not used to a little poof here and a little puff there. I spent a lot of years being überfit and überskinny and two years on I still haven't learned to settle into this softer 38 year old body. I'll admit to more than my share of vanity. It's my vice (what, just one?). I'm not used to this body, but I have gotten used to the lattes. At the end of the day, I find I lack the "energy of soul" to go full throttle the way I did back in the day. Given a free afternoon I am more likely to curl up with a latte and a book than put on my running shoes. Far, far more likely.

And then there is spring, when the Erdbeertortli come out.



That's what really does it, if I'm honest. Those little strawberry tarts that I can't resist. Five pounds? I blame the tortli.