The Heavy

This weekend south Florida felt like fall! And thank goodness, because after attempting to squeeze into my skinny jeans for date night on Friday, and seriously failing to do so, my sweatpants and I became best friends without too much discomfort (at least due to the weather).

It’s official. I have fallen prey to the relationship weight gain. Not only did I add a husband to my life, I added a pants size. And while to most people that isn’t a lot, I am only 5’2” so a few pounds really screws up my wardrobe. But it’s not just my wardrobe. I stopped wearing my heels, I’ve slack on make up, my nails have been chipped for the past week and we have not gone out past dinner since …. well I can’t even remember.

I’m blaming Mark. In the three days leading up to the wedding, I slept a total of 6 hours, took one shower and had put make up on zero times. My sweet soon-to-be-husband came in from running errands, hugged me, kissed me and then stepped back to look at me.

“I really like this look,” he said in all seriousness.

“The dirty-hobo-bride look?” I joked.

“Yeah. Well I mean the no make up and sweats. It’s cute.”

When Mark and I began dating, we lived like rockstars. It was expensive, but we flew around the world to see each other, dressed up and when out to eat and party every night. I worked my ass out at the gym and suffered through meals of green beans and brown rice, so I could party it up on the weekends. I would go shopping for cute dresses and new shoes. I can’t count the number of times I would drive to the airport, hands out the window, in order to dry my nails before I had to hit up the security checkpoint.

But living in a tropical climate, where the heat is obnoxious and rain is unpredictable and tsunami-like, and not having anywhere to go on a regular basis, I have relaxed a bit. Sandals have become my staple footwear; I can’t even remember the last pair of new shoes I bought. Shopping is the enemy, especially since our gym has been under renovation for the past two weeks. And working out to a Jillian Michaels video has become a chore, since I now have two dogs sitting standby, just waiting to lick the salty-sweat off my face right about the time as I am trying to come up from a push up.

I know Mark is feeling the weight as well. We both are uncomfortable. We both like to watch TV on a Friday nights, because we both are usually asleep before ten o’clock. We both turned 85-years-old in just a few short months. (Scratch that, my 92-year-old grandmother has more energy that us).

By no means do I want to be high-maintenance. As much fun as a fancy dinner and cocktails are, I really do love sitting on the couch watching a movie with Mark. And because up until a few months ago our relationship has really been anything but routine, it is nice to be a little mundane when Mark finally comes back home.

So, this weekend, after my second peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks, I declared war. The gym re-opened, so I hit up the Elliptical (promptly followed by a sushi dinner and an ice cream sandwich … and a Reese’s cup … okay, two. But they are the really small bite-sized ones.). … Hey, it’s a start.