Watchword.

I am sitting here typing items into the WeightWatchers point calculator and emitting the occasional squeak or howl of indignation. To our neighbors I would imagine it sounds as though I have tossed a couple of vocal pygmy marmosets into a blender for an evening snack. Which I would never do, of course—not merely out of compassion, but also because DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY POINTS ARE IN A PYGMY MARMOSET?

Yes. I am back on WeightWatchers, and the first few days are just as brutal as I remembered, even with the extra points they give me for breastfeeding. And that reminds me—what do you do if you are only breastfeeding five times a day? They gave me 10 extra points, which is a full half of my pre-nursing points allowance. Not that I am complaining, mind you (I still have trouble fitting in the necessities, like wine), but there is no point in being a little miserable and not losing weight when I could either become thinner by being a bit more forlorn or, alternatively, stay fat and happy.
Which isn’t entirely accurate, because if I were happy at this weight I wouldn’t have had a godforsaken salad as part of my dinner this evening. I don’t like being embarrassed when I catch a glimpse of myself in a store mirror, or cringing at pictures of me holding my daughter. And of course it is about more than weight—I felt much healthier the last time I tried this whole exercise and sensible eating gig, and I think if I am going to be nursing and wrangling an infant on little sleep, I ought to take better care of my body. However dispiriting the first few days of Weight Watchers have been, they have effectively increased my consumption of fruits and vegetables 100% 500% from “the occasional garnish” to “five servings a day.”

It is hard, though, especially when you are watching a certain baby—I won’t name names—loll on your lap in a satisfied stupor, milk dripping into the folds of her neck. Breastmilk has 20 calories per ounce, so according to my calculations, this baby (female, 7 pounds, under 5’1”, mostly sedentary) must be exceeding her daily target. Of course concentric rolls of thigh look better on her than they would on me.

Rolls. Now I am thinking about rolls. Dinner rolls shining with butter.
It may be time for bed.