Can I still call them my yoga pants if I don't actually do yoga?

So my dream of losing all the preggo weight before returning to work was unrealistic. Especially considering I have only slightly altered my calorie intake since when I was pregnant.

Simply cutting out my thrice-weekly mocha frappes hasn't made as much a difference as one would think. And my dream of nursing my way into my size 10's vanished halfway through this leave.

But I'm not a total failure. I have managed to lose almost two-thirds of the baby weight, which is something.

Though, that remaining third ain't budging.

So today I revisited a dear old friend: Weight Watchers.

My first taste of experience with Weight Watchers began nine years ago, after having my twin girls, Mad Dog and The Deuce. Per doctor's orders, I bulked up, intent to carry and deliver two robust babies to term -- which I did.

And when I surpassed 200 lbs at an OB visit sometime during my 8th month, I vowed to stop looking at the scale and instead, promptly hit a Dairy Queen after every doctor's appointment.

But I digress.

After the girls were born, I was a hot mess. And I needed help. But with two small babies to feed and seriously limited time and income, I couldn't swing actually joining the Weight Watchers program. Instead, (speaking in a hushed voice) I borrowed my mom's program materials and glombed onto several co-workers who were enrolled at the time.

Somehow through osmosis, I learned about points, portion size and keeping a food journal. A virtual Weight Watchers stowaway, I managed to lose most of the baby weight in relatively short order.

Fast forward five years.

When Crowbar, my boy, was born I was blessed with a maternity leave during warm weather months. I was able to get out and walk, making shedding the baby weight a little easier. But alas, having three kids and aging five years had taken its toll. It was significantly harder to lose the weight.

And so, for a second time, I turned to Weight Watchers.

This time, I joined the program as a legitimate member (huzzah!). I paid dues and participated in a WW @ Work program. Our leader was fantastic, but I was disappointed in my fellow group members. Haggard veterans of the program, they were totally self-defeating. Instead of motivation and encouragement, I heard bitching and complaining.

"Oh, I really blew it this week," one said. "On Monday I hit the bakery and it was all downhill from there."

Every meeting was the same.

"Oy, this was my worst week ever," said another. "I was screwed by Tuesday so I went to that new buffet place and totally pigged out."

It was like they'd all lost their spirit, their drive to lose weight. There were several weeks where I was the only one who lost anything. (Besides my patience.) And so when it was time to renew for the next session I bagged out.

So this brings us to the summer of 2009 when I experienced my best weight-loss trick yet: acute pancreatitis. Three weeks on a feeding tube does wonders for the waistline, though I cannot say I recommend it.

After I recovered, I was the thinnest I'd been since before college. Unfortunately, I also was weak as hell and looked like shit. Despite being pale and lightheaded most of the time, I was thrilled to be skinny!

Eventually (once I graduated to solid foods), I found a healthy weight and maintained it for about a year before I got pregnant with Sweet Pea. And after nine months of McDonald's Skillet Burritos and mocha frappes (one cannot deny their cravings!) I gained 45 lbs. -- 25 of which I've lost.

Which brings us to today: It's less than a week before I need to enter the Land of the Working and I need to go out and buy bigger sizes because my old clothes are too small and my maternity stuff is too big.

Damn. I wish I would've started working on this sooner.

My wake-up call came yesterday when The Deuce came home from school at 4 o'clock and asked me why I was still in my pajamas.

"These aren't my pj's," I said. "They're my yoga pants."

"You do yoga?" she asked, innocently.

Sadly, I don't do yoga.

Up until now, I'd been living in elastic waistbands. I hadn't even given my back-to-work wardrobe a second thought.

And now I'm screwed.

So, back to Weight Watchers -- and again, I'm keeping it legit. I registered online just this morning.

So why am I telling you all this? (If you've even made it this far in this ri-donk-ulously long, self-absorbed post?)

I don't want to embark on this venture alone.

And I know I'm not alone. Show me someone who's never been concerned about their weight. Show me someone who'd be totally unable to empathize. To commiserate. And maybe to cheer me on.

I'm not a fat girl -- never have been -- but I'm not at a healthy weight right now. I don't like these pudgy cheeks and I hate that I can't get these thighs into my pre-preggo pants -- even the ones I'd previously called my Fat Jeans.

So here goes nothing: Day One.

It's not my first Day One, but it'll hopefully be my last.