I have always loved bagels.
From back in my childhood when Mom would make me cinnamon raisin bagels grilled in butter then oooooozing with melty peanut butter, to my days working on the Upper West Side of Manhattan where part of my job was going to the Jewish deli* for iced coffees and bagels for the office, I have had a serious love for their round, chewy perfection.
* I have never walked past an old Jewish man or woman in NYC who didn’t start yelling at me, insisting I am “Too skinny! Oy!” and need to eat a bagel immediately. This is why I love New York. And Jewish people.
I got pregnant with Mr T while I worked there, and am pretty surprised he did not come out of my womb holding a plain bagel, toasted, with extra butter.
My OB was
horrified a bit concerned about how fat I got I added a few pounds to my figure, and requested I get back in shape so I didn’t accidentally get harpooned for health reasons.
This meant no more bagels.
I worked hard and got in shape, and in a whirlwind got pregnant with Miss A when Mr T was 13 months old.. I knew that in order to not
horrify worry my OB again, bagels were no longer a part of my life.
So I avoided them during the pregnancy, and after. I thought I was doing okay in the weight department.
Then I looked down.
And saw that my belly looked like a bagel.
I expected the Muffin Top.
But a Bagel Belly?
What the hell!?
It was as if all extra fat in my abdomen decided to gather for a group discussion around my belly button. Not up high, not down low…right in the middle. Both confused and a little freaked out by what happened to my body after 2 babies, I got into a healthy routine at the gym. I got fit, shrank the Bagel, and managed to be a good role model for my kids in the meantime.
I balanced exercise and eating right, which allowed me to get back to eating warm toasty bagels. Ahhh….
Then, um, I got busy and tired and sick this winter. And I tend to not obsess about weight, as long as my clothes fit.
So the Bagel?
That sneaky bastard!
Unlike the glossy golden firm bagel, my Bagel Belly protrudes as a cellulitey jiggly “O”, making my belly button appear cavernous. All my shirts are now way too tight, since the Belly Bagel is basically the size of one of my (deflated saggy but strategically rolled-up into a fabulous bra) boobs.
This is not a good look on me.
Dressing around a Bagel Belly is tricky. Harder than a Muffin Top, for sure. I have one of those, too, and can successfully camouflage that part of the Bakery sprouting in my Midsection.
The fact of the matter is, if I want to fit into my clothes, not have this odd abdominal protrusion waving “Oh! Hello!” to people as I walk by, and make a healthier example for my children, I have to start working out again.
Or stop eating bagels.
I think we all know that I’d rather have a bagel in my belly than as a belly.
So back to the gym I go…