The Shape of Things to Come
This morning, I weighed in at 203.75 pounds, down .75 pounds from my lowest, and off 47.25 pounds in total. I’m encouraged by this, since I am still carrying my PMS water weight. While it is no longer the 3-pound guaranteed loss that it once was, I also don’t gain that 3 right before my cycle ends, and that pleases me. I’m trying to keep myself in This Moment, but I can’t help looking down the scale just a little bit, when I can move the big bar on the balance scale to 150 instead of 200. It’s just a 1 pound difference from 200 to 199, but the psychological gap spans the greater piece of my current consciousness. If I lose my PMS 3, I still have .75 pounds to go. I need to keep it slow and steady, and I will, insofar as I can do anything slow and steady. Stay tuned.
Things are better on the home front re: my son and his diagnosis. I’m in a waiting period right now, as the psychiatrist's letter makes its way via USPS from Hoffman Estates to Naperville, gets lost in the files, gets sent again, and then lodges in our family records. Once that’s completed, I begin the try-to-reach-the-doctor-live dance, and I can already tell that the HMO Bastard Pieces of Crap will convince my doctor that he must physically see my son again before he can send me the referral for the speech therapist. Can’t do anything without that juicy $15 co-pay. You know, I think the Democrats might get their wish after all, and America will get its single-payer, Universal Health Care system, only the 'single-payer' will be the American consumer.
I had a tough time for a couple of days following my son’s diagnosis re: my diet and corresponding loss. I didn’t cheat, but I was sorely tempted, and I had no recourse, other than to suffer through it. I don't believe in the 2-point bars as a substitute for candy or comfort. For me, I'd rather simply state that I don't eat anything I don't classify as food (and an overprocessed, oversugared bar is definitely not food). Eventually I had to remove my son’s emergency stash of goldfish crackers from the car, since every time I got behind the wheel, I could scarcely do anything other than stare at the bag and drool. Most unpleasant. I’m barely eating carbs as it is, and I’m certainly not eating simple carbs or anything white flour-based, but there they were anyway, and there I was, craving them.
I wasn’t craving them necessarily, you understand, although goldfish crackers are the child-equivalent of potato chips or chocolate kisses. Having tasted a single cracker, my brain compels me to unhinge my jaw and slide the contents of the package into my stomach. This occurs regardless of hunger, circumstance, location, and size of box, this last piece being most unsettling, since I usually buy goldfish crackers in the ‘never run out’ 33 oz size. This ‘box’, that actually looks like a steroid-abusing half-gallon milk jug, has a spout the size of a 6-foot catfish mouth and the pouring density somewhere just short of Niagara Falls.
Plus, though the spout is too large for mouth-to-mouth consumption (I know this because I have tried it), the opening is too small for an adult hand. So, whenever I try to nab a handful, I become victom to the Raccoon-in-a-Trap scenario, where the only way to free my “paw” is to let go of the treats. Goldfish cracker acquisition is humiliating stuff. I know all this, I knew it during my Carb Crisis, and still, it was 2 full days of torture before I finally just dropped the (nearly full) bags into the trash.
It surprised me that I had such a tough time, given how well I’ve done with the loss so far. But really, this was my first test. I haven’t had a Major Stressor since I started, unless you count my crazy ex-housemate, my pending divorce, my teetering job stability, the single-mom thing, or my fledgling elsker sak. They are real, certainly, but it’s nothing I’m not accustomed to carrying. I’m working to lower my stress tolerance, but for now, it looks like I’ll have to keep things high and flying.
I’ve logged hours on the web, digging through all the Spectrum sites, reading as fast as I can, and absorbing everything that’s relevant to my son's condition. I did find a support group that meets Friday. I have to find out if it’s child-friendly; if it isn’t, I’m going to have a tough decision to make regarding how much “live” support I need. After all, I see my son so little during the week, so cutting out 2 hours on a Friday night, which is usually our Unwind From the Week evening, takes some thought. I mean, Iif taking care of him pulls me away from him for a big chunk of the slim hours I have to be with him, then…what? Is this the trade? It hardly seems fair. But then again, life isn’t. Best to remind myself of that daily. And to keep my WW POINTS down. I’m running on par with my buddy’s weight loss so far this week, and he’s had Burger King and sushi with white rice already. Sometimes it really stinks to have a man as a buddy. They do everything faster.
On the up side, I got to chuck my ‘new size down’ clothes into the DONATIONS pile this morning, because they’re so big on me, it’s embarrassing. I’m basically relegated to my jeans and a few blouses where the shoulders actually lay somewhere other than the sides of my arms. I’m cinching my belt tight, and my waist, long my best feature, appears at last. I’m curvy again, and I’m happy to report that while I’ve lost 7 or 8 inches off my hips and my waist, I’ve only lost 4 off my bust, and while I can see that my rack is smaller, no one else has remarked about my ‘shrinking assets’ as it were.
My apologies to the parents and parent-like readers out there. I’m sure you don’t want to be thinking about me in a body parts way. Such is the life in the Full Disclosure blog. Anyway, I don’t have my shape back, but I can see it returning. My legs are starting to slim down, I can feel my ribs when I’m prone, and my feet are actually smaller. Plus, and this is awesome-my hands are returning. I like my hands, particularly my fingers. I have long, thin, tapered fingers that look great with sparkly decorations. I haven’t been able to wear anything on my hands for several years, since everything was much too small. There at the end, I couldn’t even wear my ring-finger jewelry on my pinky. But now, I can get some of the larger-sized rings on both hands, and I’d say I’m not much more than 10 or 15 pounds from wearing all but the smallest fare. Very exciting! I didn’t really realize how much I missed having pretties on my hand until I started sporting them again.
A the Sparkling
Things are better on the home front re: my son and his diagnosis. I’m in a waiting period right now, as the psychiatrist's letter makes its way via USPS from Hoffman Estates to Naperville, gets lost in the files, gets sent again, and then lodges in our family records. Once that’s completed, I begin the try-to-reach-the-doctor-live dance, and I can already tell that the HMO Bastard Pieces of Crap will convince my doctor that he must physically see my son again before he can send me the referral for the speech therapist. Can’t do anything without that juicy $15 co-pay. You know, I think the Democrats might get their wish after all, and America will get its single-payer, Universal Health Care system, only the 'single-payer' will be the American consumer.
I had a tough time for a couple of days following my son’s diagnosis re: my diet and corresponding loss. I didn’t cheat, but I was sorely tempted, and I had no recourse, other than to suffer through it. I don't believe in the 2-point bars as a substitute for candy or comfort. For me, I'd rather simply state that I don't eat anything I don't classify as food (and an overprocessed, oversugared bar is definitely not food). Eventually I had to remove my son’s emergency stash of goldfish crackers from the car, since every time I got behind the wheel, I could scarcely do anything other than stare at the bag and drool. Most unpleasant. I’m barely eating carbs as it is, and I’m certainly not eating simple carbs or anything white flour-based, but there they were anyway, and there I was, craving them.
I wasn’t craving them necessarily, you understand, although goldfish crackers are the child-equivalent of potato chips or chocolate kisses. Having tasted a single cracker, my brain compels me to unhinge my jaw and slide the contents of the package into my stomach. This occurs regardless of hunger, circumstance, location, and size of box, this last piece being most unsettling, since I usually buy goldfish crackers in the ‘never run out’ 33 oz size. This ‘box’, that actually looks like a steroid-abusing half-gallon milk jug, has a spout the size of a 6-foot catfish mouth and the pouring density somewhere just short of Niagara Falls.
Plus, though the spout is too large for mouth-to-mouth consumption (I know this because I have tried it), the opening is too small for an adult hand. So, whenever I try to nab a handful, I become victom to the Raccoon-in-a-Trap scenario, where the only way to free my “paw” is to let go of the treats. Goldfish cracker acquisition is humiliating stuff. I know all this, I knew it during my Carb Crisis, and still, it was 2 full days of torture before I finally just dropped the (nearly full) bags into the trash.
It surprised me that I had such a tough time, given how well I’ve done with the loss so far. But really, this was my first test. I haven’t had a Major Stressor since I started, unless you count my crazy ex-housemate, my pending divorce, my teetering job stability, the single-mom thing, or my fledgling elsker sak. They are real, certainly, but it’s nothing I’m not accustomed to carrying. I’m working to lower my stress tolerance, but for now, it looks like I’ll have to keep things high and flying.
I’ve logged hours on the web, digging through all the Spectrum sites, reading as fast as I can, and absorbing everything that’s relevant to my son's condition. I did find a support group that meets Friday. I have to find out if it’s child-friendly; if it isn’t, I’m going to have a tough decision to make regarding how much “live” support I need. After all, I see my son so little during the week, so cutting out 2 hours on a Friday night, which is usually our Unwind From the Week evening, takes some thought. I mean, Iif taking care of him pulls me away from him for a big chunk of the slim hours I have to be with him, then…what? Is this the trade? It hardly seems fair. But then again, life isn’t. Best to remind myself of that daily. And to keep my WW POINTS down. I’m running on par with my buddy’s weight loss so far this week, and he’s had Burger King and sushi with white rice already. Sometimes it really stinks to have a man as a buddy. They do everything faster.
On the up side, I got to chuck my ‘new size down’ clothes into the DONATIONS pile this morning, because they’re so big on me, it’s embarrassing. I’m basically relegated to my jeans and a few blouses where the shoulders actually lay somewhere other than the sides of my arms. I’m cinching my belt tight, and my waist, long my best feature, appears at last. I’m curvy again, and I’m happy to report that while I’ve lost 7 or 8 inches off my hips and my waist, I’ve only lost 4 off my bust, and while I can see that my rack is smaller, no one else has remarked about my ‘shrinking assets’ as it were.
My apologies to the parents and parent-like readers out there. I’m sure you don’t want to be thinking about me in a body parts way. Such is the life in the Full Disclosure blog. Anyway, I don’t have my shape back, but I can see it returning. My legs are starting to slim down, I can feel my ribs when I’m prone, and my feet are actually smaller. Plus, and this is awesome-my hands are returning. I like my hands, particularly my fingers. I have long, thin, tapered fingers that look great with sparkly decorations. I haven’t been able to wear anything on my hands for several years, since everything was much too small. There at the end, I couldn’t even wear my ring-finger jewelry on my pinky. But now, I can get some of the larger-sized rings on both hands, and I’d say I’m not much more than 10 or 15 pounds from wearing all but the smallest fare. Very exciting! I didn’t really realize how much I missed having pretties on my hand until I started sporting them again.
A the Sparkling
posted by Former Fat Girl Gone Skinny | 7:45 AM
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