I am thirty-two flavors and then some ...

"Are there any flavors of ice cream that you still like that I won't? Mint? Strawberry?" I asked Mike while poking my muffin top hoping it would pop like a balloon.

"No. Sorry. You've changed me." (Queue wah-wah music.)

"Can you change back?" (Me. Hopeful.)

"What? You can't control yourself?" (Him. Dashing all hope.)

"No. If there is low fat ice cream in the house, I can't be trusted. At least I can buy the regular stuff for the kids. For some reason I don't touch that." (Me. Confusing the shit out of Mike.)

"So, you won't eat one scoop of regular ice cream, but you'll eat four scoops of low fat ice cream?!?!" (Him. Staring, incredulously. How rude!)

"Yeah. It's low fat so I can eat more! That's how it works in my world." (Me. Glancing around to make sure the windows are closed and no one else can hear my idiotic logic.)

Sonofabiatch. My husband wasn't biting. I've sprouted a muffin top and need to go cold turkey off the ice creamery, but he wasn't game on changing up flavors. So, I'm now doomed to a life of spilling over my denim. The other day, I found myself casting disparaging looks to Moms who were in shape. I even debated force-feeding them baconators so they would feel my pain. Now, I'm a crazed woman on a mission: Melt the muffin top before bathing suit season!

Does stomach flu make the rounds in Spring? My game plan is to lick every Walmart shopping cart handle in town. Or, maybe I should just go on the extended "stomach flu diet" -- weeks of crackers and broth. But, I can't do the crackers. Too many carbs. Shit. What's a mom battling the bulge supposed to do?

Salads, I suppose. And more fruit. And more cardio.

Plan B?

Mom jeans. Somebody spanx me.