29. The Year That Never Ends...

So, this is it? 29 for life now, right? Is that still the running joke or was that just something I heard my teachers, youth group leaders and YWCA gymnastic instructors say to eachother when I was little?

Either way, 29 is here to stay.

Every year, I come up with something that I want to "add" to my life, not just for that year. Here is a glimpse of my past birthday wishes to myself:

24 yrs - Get a massage for every birthday (best birthday idea EVER..Scott never has to guess and I always get a massage)

25 yrs - Buy expensive shampoo (totally awesome and totally worth it...no matter what my pocketbook says)

26 yrs - Get more pedicures (I am not so good at remembering this one...Scott remembers though...especially when I slice him in the night with my heels that morph into shards of glass in the winter)

27 yrs - Read more books (This was a good one, I must admit. Not only am I more smarter, but I now actually read the "Books You Must Read" section of my People Magazine)

28 yrs - Run a marathon (This one was the best thing I may have ever done mentally and physically...plus...well....it kind of saved my life with the whole finding out I had one kidney thing)

So, now to this year.

I started running out of genius ideas... I am only human... They had to slow down at some point...

So, here is what I have decided.

From my birthday until November 30 (my next kidney function test), I am on a strict no sweets plan. Yep. No Edwards Donuts. No homemade cookies. Nothing. Why? Well, due to the fact that I cannot work out or exert myself because of my current kidney condition, I need something that is mentally difficult that produces physical rewards. And saying no to sweets will be a battle of my brain along with a hopeful notch or two taken off of the ol' belt of glory.

THEN. After my kidney test, if they tell me that I have regained my function (prayers are welcomed and finger/toe crossings are not denied), I will take on a new venture. The world of Pilates.

That's right. Jennifer Aniston. I am coming for your abs. And legs. And arms. And while we are at it, your hair too...and you have pretty eyes...

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Pilates. So, I am preparing myself by ordering DVD's online and trying to touch my toes every now and again...and not just when I am sitting down.

Running is a tough friend to compete with but Pilates does have Jen An. And I think you get to buy a cool mat. Jenny (thats what us friends call her) had one specially made for Oprah with pictures of Prah Prah's dogs (again, us close friends call Oprah this..oh, the three of us) on it. I wouldnt want to smush my dogs, so I would probably get something put on my mat that I wouldn't mind smushing...like bugs. or spiders.

Or a picture of fat lard. Who wouldnt want to smash that crap down? Hence, the whole point of Pilates.

That would be what you call a "full circle" mat, actually. Figuratively smushing lard while literally trying to smush your lard.

Speaking of full circle, this post needs to hurry up and get there, because even I am falling asleep.

29. The year that never ends. Going hand in hand with the post that never ends. It's like a massage minus the massage and adding a yoga mat? Maybe for 29, I should have wished for humor? like the kind Prah Prah has?

I give up.

Love. Me. Sugar.

Unbeknownst to me, I am quite connected to sugar. I mean, connected at the hip..... And thighs, booty and lower back...lovingly referred to as the top of the muffin. Muffin Top.

I have received some news recently about my solitary kidney...the Mighty Righty... and well, it seems that childbirth was its least favorite activity, because 30% of it went ka-poot on me.

Three years ago, I found out that I had a blood clotting disorder. It was more than likely most of the reason I had three miscarriages.

Looking into my family history, if you go back a few generations (from what I know), all of my deceased family members died of some form of cancer. One didn't...and sadly, he was killed.

The odds are not in my favor.

And now, I find out that I have the one kidney thing going for me. And 30% of it said peace out homies.

You know the saying, "You can't put lipstick on a pig?"

My outer body. The lipstick. My inner body. The pig.

I kind of feel like an internal mess. I mean, the outside...well, we all know I would have won had I entered the Winnebago county fair.. With my long legs, ability to do my hair and make-up with finesse and of course, a tiny nose....oh, and sparkling personality. But, the inside? The only contest it would win would be the "Who doesn't want me?" contest featuring my innards and snoop dogg's lungs.

Anyways, I have been thinking very seriously about the fact that there is a lot that I cannot control. And there is a lot that these stupid body issues have already taken from me. Children..The future ability to have lots more children...Running...Family members...

But, I am not going to let the negative side to this junk take over my thoughts and throw me into a hissy fit (no, I will have those privately while staring pathetically at myself in the mirror...I am not that emotionally healthy yet, people)

I cannot control my genetics. I cannot control what I was born with(out). I cannot control what runs in my family and hopefully skips the rest of all of us.

But, I can control how I take care of my body.

And it's about time I stop eating the same french fries that don't change shape or texture when hiding under a car seat for 5 years. Seriously, McDonalds. 5 years. Hi, I would like a cheeseburger with a small "preservatives only".

It's time to pay attention to what I eat. To make wise choices about what I inhale. And to stop feeding the monkey some sugar everytime it dances. (Am I the only one who rewards myself with JUNK food the SECOND I lose ONE pound?)

Scott and I are on a voyage to cut out processed food. So far so good.

Except I am realizing that sugar... Wow... When you aren't eating it? And you are used to...

Well...  It really likes to let you know.

Sleepy. Headache. It's like little angry sugar demons are on the attack. Covering my brain with tiny warm blankets of sleepiness. And taking itty bitty hammers to my forehead.

It sounds surprisingly cute. But nay.

It so isn't.

But, it's ok. It is high time that I take control over one of the few things I can take control of.

So, along with working on actually putting the laundry away after I wash and fold, I will also do my best at taking care of the inside of me. Namely, my gizzards.

(I would like to think the term gizzard refers to the overall inside arena of my organs)