It's time to address the elephant in the room.

Sometimes it's really difficult to face something that is painfully obvious. Who wants to admit their frailties? Own up to their insecurities, when it is much easier to walk around seemingly blissfully ignorant.  Then it comes a time when you can no longer ignore the monumental pachyderm walking around.  In our case there are two elephants milling around.  The sexy pudginess  that is my husband and the unsightly mess that is me.  We have managed to pack on 22 pounds each since I started work.  Other than how cute it is we each gained the same, the rest is ugly as all get out. We were discussing our blimp status in bed the other night. The first thing out of P's mouth was "You know we are not going to anything about this until after the holidays."  The man sure knows how to start things off with the right attitude. 

First we played the blame game, because that is what those of us with lack of self awareness do. First on the list was Grandpa.  It's not like the man can defend himself. And he did give us all those cool gadgets for making milkshakes, ice cream, cakes and all kinds of goodies. Except Grandma did not tell us to gorge on said goodies. Our weekend relaxing ritual has obviously included one too many beers for P, and one too many margaritas for me. But damn, it's so much fun. Let's not talk about portion size and dessert. I am amazed that P gained weight though, something that was so difficult for him before.  My return to work means no more walking around looking after SS, instead I sit for nine hours. by the time I get home I'm exhausted (nine hours in front of a monitor sucks) Well, that was an easy one, plus all the other stuff above. 

P turns to me and says "But the biggest factor is you, it's mostly your fault." Oh no he didn't! I immediately asked him how in hell is HIS weight gain MY fault. Most men would immediately tread carefully when their wife is foaming at the mouth.  But P is not most men and will not let a little thing like his imminent transformation into an eunuch, or death to stop him from delivering some home truths.  My clueless husband plowed through, "You haven't cooked much after we finished your first batch, and we eat much healthier when you cook."  First, that was not a batch, that was a full freezer in the garage and the freezer in the kitchen that we both filled. And there's the little fact that I was able to go crazy in the kitchen because I had the time. So now it is up to both of us to take turns cooking dinner. Why should the onus be on me? There's a good explanation for that, my husband is busy, he has a full time job. Next time anyone hears P talk, they are going to be blown away by his high pitched voice.

I gripe a lot about P's morning ritual with SS, how I prefer my rip off the bandage method of waking up our daughter.  But it works for both, so what am I to do but sweeten the pot. In a grand show of hypocrisy I brought breakfast to bed to a very sleepy SS. She cleaned her plate and that is all that matters.