My name is Karen...and I'm a NeoCitraholic

Again, I'm sick.

Snif.

Kaff.

For about three weeks now, I've been hacking my way to chiseled abs (keep an eye out for my new, patented, Kaff-ercise program, available soon at a gym near you), which would be awesome except for the fact that I'm cold and exhausted all the time, the nose is running like a faucet, and oh yes, I'm hacking up a lung for 65% of every day.

Yes, I still have to get up to look after the kids.

Yes, I still have to take care of myself (although I am accepting applications for Experienced and Attractive Sponge Bathers) (experience optional).

Yes, I still have to eat and drink water.

Ah.

The last bit, it seems, is what isn't happening. The kids, sure, get a bit more horizontal parenting than usual, but they're fed, clothed, changed, and provided with toy-riffic stimulation, books and songs, all day long. I have my daily shower, which I dread, because there's that minute between getting out of my clothes and into the hot shower that is SO cold and awful.

And then there's the food.

Kaff.

I'm not hungry. Well, I am, but not for anything nutritious. I manage my oatmeal every morning, sometimes with half a glass of juice, but more likely with a sip of water, and then it's all I can do to sip some tea or my beloved NeoCitran (which I went without during pregnancy - such deprivation!) till lunch, at which time I'll nibble on the same stuff the kids get (healthy! not sufficient, but healthy), then lie still while they nap (but I can't sleep - turns out you need to be able to breathe to sleep), and maybe have some tea. And then dinner, followed by a bite or two of fruit, and maybe some more tea. Yep.

Chris called me "skinny" the other day.* Not fit, not muscular, not lean, but skinny. Anyone that knows me knows that I'm militantly anti-skinny. At my worst, when I had the flu for 2 weeks and lost 20 lbs (trust me, not a good look), I wore 2 sweatshirts and 2 pairs of sweatpants to the gym, so that nobody, including me, would have to be exposed to my weak, stick-like arms and twiggy little legs. Yick.

Snif.

A woman at the gym made an envious comment to me when I picked up the kids the other day, and I wanted to shake her and say, "Do you think I WANT my ribs to be visible in my upper chest?" NOT a good look for anyone (Calista Flockhart, take note).

I'm trying to muster, of course. I'm trying to go to bed at a reasonable time (oops) and to proactively eat good, nutritious, health-and-muscle-restoring foods. In fact, we had a chicken alfredo pasta last night. Poor food choice, all around. I'm still working out (weekly/weakly), and have to film my Attack recertification video in a day and a half, despite my current miserable state.

Oh yes, and I'm even pastier white than usual.

And my teeth hurt.

Snif.

Kaff.

Where was I going with all this? Oh yes: if you staple a St. Bernard with a cask of NeoCitran around its neck to your resume, hopeful Sponge-Bath Applicants, I might look at it more favourably...



(Next Morning Edit: Woo. Looks like I had a fever last night, eh? Feeling MUCH better today)


* I reminisce, sort of fondly, to the time, right before a competition, that he saw me getting into the shower and called me Golem. But at least I had muscles then!!!