I saw a baby in church who was so fat, it looked painful. I looked at her fat parents and wanted to slap them both silly -- Three Stooges style -- but we were in church. The preacher was talking about forgiveness, and as bad as I needed to hear what the good Rev. Dr. was saying, all I could do was stare at the Klumps seated in front of me. I immediately wondered what these people were feeding this child. It's no secret that down South we give our babies cereal very early on, as in weeks vs. the months most doctors recommend. Hence, I've seen a chubby baby or two in my day. However, this baby was ready for the Maury show. In all fairness, I know nothing of the child's medical and genetic histories, so this is based solely on what I saw. If her parents were any indication, this child was being fed far more than she could possibly need. I don't understand how two people living a life that could potentially mirror my past morbidly-obese pain would allow the curse to continue.

When I went home, I started poking around the Internet, only to discover that the problem of obesity among children is officially an epidemic. Several studies talked about how rapid weight gain during the first six months could place a child at risk of obesity by age 3. An article for the HarvardScience Publication found, "As childhood obesity continues its 30-year advance from occasional curiosity to cultural epidemic, health care providers are struggling to find out why - and the reasons are many," David Cameron writes. "Increasingly sedentary environments for both adults and children, as well as cheap and ubiquitous processed foods no doubt play a role, but researchers are finding more evidence that the first clues for childhood obesity may begin as far back as early infancy."

January 30, 2006. That date may not ring any bells for you, however, among the gastric bypass circle, it is commonly known as my re-born date. This was the date of my surgery and certainly the beginning of a new life for me. It really was, in essence, like being born again into a better life.

Nearly four years later, I am wondering if I still have to disclose that I am a gastric bypass patient. In the early days, it was necessary for various reasons. Small portions from expensive restaurants made more than a few dates inquire why I'd eat so little of what most would consider a great meal. At some point, when comfortable, I would tell folks about the surgery and my limitations. For the most part, the reactions were ones that I could live with. However, on more than one occasion, the response was less than flattering.

I also shared the news with friends and family for various reasons. Again, this news was met with an array of responses ranging from, 'you go girl' to 'you took the easy way out'. Some, I told for accountability. Others, I told because, in an instance where I'd be sick, get food stuck or suffer from dumping syndrome, they needed to know how to help. Well, those things are no longer of grave concern.

So my 40th birthday came and went, and I survived. I actually had a party with some friends and had a great time. Now that I'm over it, I can't remember why I was whining about turning 40. When I think of it in comparative terms, I'm a whole lot better at 40 than I was at 30. I have never looked better. I have never felt better. I have never run farther and all things considered, I am in the most stable place I've ever had in my life.

Taking a step back to think of the many ways that my life has changed for the better allowed me to put it in perspective. OK, so it wasn't the step back, it was my editor Katie who made me think about the good. She had questions from my last post where I was whining about 40 and what surprised me most was that all of her questions were about the good things that I didn't even write about. Naturally, I rolled my neck in true sista girl fashion and I thought, this chick doesn't even know me, and I highly doubt she's 30, so what does she know? Well, she knows a heck of a lot more than I do if she has read my posts over the course of time and recognizes from my words alone that I'm a whole lot better now than I have ever been.

No, my angst did not evaporate because of this realization, but it did ignite appreciation in me. As a reminder of how far I've come, I read some old journal entries. As I read entries from my 20s and 30s, I cried -- I cried hard -- because I could not believe how many of the things I had accomplished and how many prayers God had answered. The one thing I had prayed about over and over was to be released from the prison of morbid obesity. I had written about severe ankle pain, arthritis and my doctor's repeated warnings about diabetes and hypertension. I even suffered through an abusive relationship because of low self esteem. At 40 and 10 abuse free years, I no longer experience any of these things, nor am I at high risk for diabetes or hypertension. So what the heck was I complaining about?

I have lived between two extremes, and I am not quite sure which side is worse. I was morbidly obese, and all I could think about were ideas for getting thin and what my life would be like without the excess baggage. I didn't always act on those ideas, but I can't ever remember a day when my excessive weight didn't (literally) weigh heavily on my mind. Having finally lost the weight, my place today is quite different, but strangely, it resembles my past life. Now that I've lost the weight, I live in constant fear of gaining it back. It's really a senseless fear for the most part, I do OK with my diet and fitness and have not had more than a 2- to 3-pound variance since my gastric bypass surgery in January 2006.

Still, I wonder if it's more worrisome to be fat already or to be thin and fear fat daily. I recognize that any pluses or minuses I experience on the scale are directly related to my decisions. However, it is my thoughts that inform my decision-making process. As an extremist, it can be difficult to find a happy medium, but with something as delicate and significant as my weight, I must. Living in fear is not an option.

I am acquainted with someone who had gastric bypass surgery and then became anorexic after losing the weight. She'd had several skin-removal surgeries and could have easily been a model. After the onset of her eating disorder, she could easily be the spokesperson for anorexia nervosa -- she is all skin and bones. Even though she is extremely thin, she believes that she is still obese, so she exercises a lot and eats very little. I think she is a serious example of extremism at its finest, and she illustrates how imbalance can be near fatal.

Photo: Getty Images

Lordy, Lordy Karla's turning 40. Damn. I don't know if you can say Lordy and damn so close together, but that's where I'm at with this impending 40th birthday. Doom usually comes after impending, and to some degree, that's how I'm feeling. Somehow, I had envisioned being in a different place by this landmark in my life. And if I can be quite honest, I'm feeling some type of way that this is where I've landed.

Don't get it twisted, my life is the stuff movies are made of. Broadway shows, celebrity friends, VIP access and all that. But so what. Who am I amid all of it? Other folks know who they are, but what about Karla? Was this all I had to offer the world? I've spent 20 years doing basically the same job that never quite manifested into a full-blown career. I spent 20 years between two men, and even though they asked, I never could love either enough to stand before God and say I do till death. Damn.

One thing I always offer is transparency and sincerity. I'm not one for pity parties, but I am one for the truth. And the truth is, I'm not one bit happy about turning 40. As my 30s got closer to 40, I began to hear things my tender ears never heard directed at them before, like mammograms and fibroids, increased risks of this and that but decreased chances of fertility. Perhaps 40 is reflective for everyone, and if not, I'm just fine being the only one.

Karla with nephew Dominick Jr. and niece Caroline Photo: Karla Carrington

If home is where the heart is, then my home must now be Brooklyn. I went to North Carolina over Labor Day weekend for my nephew's 14th birthday party (hey Dominick Jr!), and it no longer felt like home. The experience was strange in the sense that it was both new and uncomfortable. Even now I pride myself on being a Southern girl, but something about that has changed.

On this visit, I drove past the house where I grew up with my parents, four siblings and usually a dog or two. The park where I had my first kiss is only a block away. Of course, the sight of my home stirred a plethora of emotion within. Some good, some bad, but all OK. Nothing about this walk down memory lane made me seek refuge in my usual way -- food -- when glancing back at my past.

I can tell that I have healed a lot because I could remember more good than bad. This house is where my eating addiction began. This house is where my brother's friend violated me and made me think being fat and unpretty would save me. A lot happened in this house, but my heart swells most remembering Sunday dinners akin to those in "Soul Food." We were a big family with not much money, but enough love to make up for the lack thereof. Overall, I had a great childhood.

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Because the opportunity for us to appear on CBS' "Early Show" Saturday Slim Down last summer came about over the course of two days, we were pretty much left to our own devices the first week. However, with Saturday's weigh-in looming above, Taia and I did everything we knew to lose weight. We were ridiculous. We counted calories, carbs, protein, fat, cats and dogs. We were practically zombies from starving ourselves. I'm pretty sure the ashy lips we had meant dehydration, but we didn't care. We could die after Saturday's weigh-in. At all costs, we had to lose some weight, because the nation would be watching.

Saturday arrived, and there we were again, preparing to step on the gargantuan fire-breathing scale from hell for the country to see how well we'd done our first week. The producer brought us up on the stage to do a dry run and position us where we were to stand. Me, being the Curious George that I am, I glanced at the scale to see if I could sneak a weigh-in to avoid any surprises before the eyes of the entire nation. I eased over and stepped on lightly only to have the giant digital display show a net loss of .8 pounds. Though disappointed at how little I'd lost, I was certainly thrilled that I hadn't gained. The producer hurried us off the stage where Taia and I chatted nervously with the other participant as we awaited our turn.

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Have you ever been embarrassed? Maybe a slight trip and fall caused your cheeks to flush red. Or perhaps you flashed that cute guy your brightest smile only to later discover that you had a huge piece of spinach in your teeth. Sure these things might bring a little shame. But what if they happened on national TV?

Of course I couldn't have had a little slip and fall or spinach in my teeth. Oh no! That's not grand enough for me. Even though I'm not from Texas, I like to do it big. Why would my most embarrassing moment prove to be anything less than my preferred method -- big.

My BFF Taia and I agreed to do a fitness challenge last summer for the "The Early Show" on CBS. The challenge was set to begin on Memorial Day and end on Labor Day. We had eight weeks to meet weight-loss goals we'd set for various reasons. She was planning a wedding, I wanted to shed 20 or so for general purposes, and another lovely lady we didn't know wanted to shed her Freshman 15.

"To cease smoking is the easiest thing I ever did. I ought to know because I've done it a thousand times." ~Mark Twain, attributed

Karla Carrington Photo: Charisse Beamon

I used to smoke. And I was good at it. Ironically enough, I was not a teen smoker, nor did I start out as a youngster. I started smoking when I was 26 years old. I know, dumb, right? I had friends who were smokers and would complain incessantly about the nastiness of the habit and how they were killing us all with second-hand smoke. You've never seen a louder non-smoker on a soapbox than me. I'm the perfect example of how things change.

Ten days before Christmas and shortly after my 25th birthday, my mother died. I was extremely depressed and began drinking heavily. Because I hated the taste, I would take a few pulls from a friend's cigarette to offset the taste of the alcohol. A few pulls turned into buying single cigarettes, then eventually packs. Before I knew, it I was a full-blown smoker.

I can't say I ever really enjoyed it, but how many people stop to examine whether they enjoy a habit or not? It's a habit! I must admit, I was surprised at how easily I slipped into the role of smoker with such little resistance. In spite of all my complaining and vowing that I would never smoke, I had fallen prey. Some would say it was in the cards, having parents who smoked, but I honestly never thought it would be me.

Karla Carrington Photo: Kim Keaton

We broke up. No, silly. Not me and P90X, me and the guy. I am still completely enamored with Tony Horton's P90X. But the guy, not so much.

First, the good. I am entering phase two, week four of P90X and in a word, I'm not ready for it. These first three weeks have punished me physically in ways I didn't know were possible. But I like it. Stuff is hurting that I didn't know could hurt. And I like that, too. When I was obese, stuff hurt even worse. And I hated it. Whatever aches I experience with P90X can be stretched away. Morbid obesity pain required pills.

Look, I'm no pitch man and I get no kickbacks from these folks. I say this of my own free will, P90X has changed my life. I feel stronger, I look fitter and I have more stamina. I am running longer and feeling less winded. In a nutshell, pound the gavel, the decree has been made: Tony Horton's baby daddyship privileges are hereby restored.

Photo: sxc.hu

I met a guy! Not just any guy, but a guy who could eventually "be" something. From one professional to another, he has real potential. As most women do, I had to compare him to my "He Must Have" check list. I'm happy to say that he stacks up pretty well.

He's self employed, very attractive and although a bit rough around the edges, he is a gentleman. He makes me laugh and can even laugh at himself. Oddly enough, he is not bothered by my quiet moods and that is huge for me. There are times when I don't want to hear a sound, nor do I make one, and that can be a bit unnerving when you're accustomed to me being Chatty Cathy, but he doesn't mind one bit.

It's still very early on, so I'm not making any bets. Quite simply, I like him (sigh). But wait just one minute before you ask about the registry. Although I like him and enjoy his company, I hate his diet. Shortly after we met, we were on the phone and he asked me to hold briefly. As I am holding, I heard him order a double cheeseburger with extra bacon. I almost gagged thinking how many calories that was. Hoping that first incident was a fluke, I promised to keep a gentle watch to see if his poor eating was habit. Well, hell yeah, it is, and I am completely disgusted! This guy eats whatever, whenever, and however -- and he's not even fat! I have on more than one occasion looked at his plate only to wonder where he puts it all. Is he still just a growing boy?

Photo: Patricia Greene-Maher

My first television deception came at the tender age of 9. Even worse, it came in the name of God. My younger sister Willette and I had fallen hopelessly in love with the son of NY televangelist Rev. Ike. Next to Michael Jackson of the Rock Wit You era was Ike, Jr. (Xavier), both deeply embedded in our young hearts. We could see Michael Jackson pretty easily but to see Rev. Ike's son, we had to watch Rev. Ike's weekly services. One night, Rev. Ike offered a gold bejeweled prayer crown if we sent a donation of any amount. The sight of that gold crown and those shining jewels had us both mesmerized. This crown was fit for a king, and we knew the gold speckled bible would never be ours for a whopping $50! But the crown for any donation, we could do. We pooled a donation of $5 and sent away for our golden bejeweled prayer crown. We had no intentions of praying, but the crown was truly a sight to behold.

The day after we mailed our donation, it became habit to immediately run to Mom after school to see if it had arrived. What were just a few weeks (I'm sure) seemed like years, but the day finally came. We went to rush Mom when she said those three magic words -- you've got mail! Willette and I went to retrieve the package only to find that only an envelope waited. Thinking that this was a security measure in advance of the crown's arrival due to its worth, we opened the envelope only to find a shower cap with Rev. Ike's hand print atop instead of our wonderful bejeweled crown. The state of North Carolina had never seen two sisters any more disappointed than we were. No gold, no jewels, not even a crown at all. It was, in fact, an old school gheri curl cap. Rev. Ike and God had done us wrong.

From that day forward, I have hated most televangelists (not God though, we cool), infomercials and anyone making promises from the TV screen. I just don't trust it and thought people who did were pure suckers. This includes my elderly Dad who later in life needed infomercial rehab. He would order any and everything off TV. This guy ordered the bible in Braille, and he wasn't even blind! One more reason to hate infomercials.

Karla Carrington Photo: Charisse Beamon

The mind is a terrible thing to waste -- on thoughts of my former fatty self. But I do it, and I do it regularly. I'd even venture to say I'm good at it. I highly doubt it's a good thing, but I waste thoughts on the old me on a daily basis. I guess in its own twisted way, it's good since those thoughts provoke an immediate "stop" to some of the bad habits that led me to a life of morbid obesity. But what happens when the thoughts begin to affect how I shop, dress and respond to people?

At my highest weight of 386 pounds, I was a size 36. Today, I currently weigh, um, less than that, and I am a size 10 on top and 12 on bottom. Figuratively speaking, I am normal. So why is it that I agonize over things like showing my arms and the length of my hemline?

Shopping is still a huge mental battle. In the early weight-loss days, my first obstacle was to use a dressing room. In the prior 30 years, I never had. Who needs a dressing room when you know the size with the most Xs behind it is yours? Once I began to lose the weight, I continued to buy clothes in my old size. For some unknown reason, it did not click that I was no longer a size 36, not until I made it home with purchases that didn't fit. It took me some time and my sister, Dr. Jan the therapist, to help me see that I was mentally staying at the old size because I feared I would return to that size. I had not embraced the new me that was forming.

Photo: float, sxc.hu

Four weeks into Weight Watchers and everything is perfect -- my journaling is exact, I'm making all the right eating choices, I've never gone over my points limit and I've reached my goal already. So take that last 20 pounds! OK, so all those things really do apply, in a perfect world.

Here's what's going on in my real world: Four weeks into Weight Watchers, and I've attended three out of four meetings, still eating right up to the points limit and borrowing as needed from other days. I journal on occasion and have gained as much as I've lost. I was down 2.2 pounds and back up 1.1 pounds.

No doubt, I am only enjoying half of the benefits of the program because I'm only halfway trying. I can't lie ya'll, I like to eat. And for as many posts that I write with tricks, tips, pointers and expert advice, I don't always do the things that I should. I can hear experts, trainers and nutritionists in my head saying, "Karla, you don't have to deprive yourself, you can enjoy -- in moderation." A single Nutter Butter cookie never brought me no joy. I need at least two to crack a smile and at least three to show some teeth -- four and I'm bordering on elation. Some days, I just can't talk myself down. I try to gauge when I'm weakest and when I'm strongest, but then I get nervous because I can't identify and well, I need a snack to think it over.

I'm only human. I make no excuses, and I take full responsibility for all the wrong I've eaten. On a much lighter note, my exercise routine has not waned. I've continued faithfully with my trainer and am working hard. I've graduated to male push ups and various other exercises that months ago were only a dream. All of this is in preparation for the big day, August 1st.

Photo: Getty Images I AOL

What my sexy neighbor Andre' says to do, Karla does. We've worked out together, and he is intense. He pushes me hard, but I don't mind. He refuses to let me give up, so I don't. The time between our sessions may be days or weeks, but I always walk away feeling proud and accomplished.

One day Andre' mentioned Tony Horton's P90X DVD fitness series. He said he'd been using it and then pulled up his shirt to show off his results. I visually saw the difference between cut and ripped. After wiping the drool from my lip, I said, "wow!" He gave me his version of Tony Horton's muscle confusion concept and how the program had worked for him. I listened intently and decided to find out more.

The following day, I was fortunate enough to catch the infomercial. I saw Tony Horton talking about P90X, and I immediately thought, "That's my baby daddy right there." Oh, but that's probably not the thought you guys care about. My second and more weighty thought was, "Dang, could I do this? Could I have six pack abs? Could I take my fitness level to the extreme?" Listening to the conviction in Tony's voice about the program made a hint of belief creep in.

See the photo to the right? That's me! Well, I mean, that's my head. I have no idea whose abs those are, but thanks to PhotoShop and my girl Waj, I could be looking at the future me. According to Tony Horton, also known as the "10-minute trainer," I can have those abs, and he's much too hot to ever lie.