The Incredible, Spectacular, Fantastic... Me. And my Super Friends.

This week I am not losing weight and it's depressing.  I know it's probably because I lost 3 pounds last week and so this is probably just a little blip, a "week off" of progress, but my brain is still a crazy person, and it's screaming.  It sounds something like OMGOMGOMGIT'SOVERANDYOU'RENEVERGOINGTOLOSEANOTHERPOUNDAGAINANDTHATLASTPICTUREWITHTHEPOOCHYBELLYISGOINGTOBETHESAMEPOOCHYBELLYYOUHAVEUNTILYOUGETTHEDIABEATISANDDIEYOUBIGFATSADSACK!!!

5 points if you read that.  10 if you found the reference to our favorite insane commercial Diabetes spokesperson.

But never mind.  Being overweight is not the point of today.  Because tomorrow, I'm undergoing treatment to become a superhero.  Or a super villain, jury's still out.  Since my ultrasound tests all found my body unremarkable, which in medical language means good, but in real life still hurt my feelings a little bit, they've decided to send me in for... dum dum duuuum... fuuuurther teeesting.  (Pretend like those last two words were delivered in a creepy, haunting voice, maybe into a megaphone.)  

The next test on the docket is called a HIDA scan.  Which sounds fun, right?  Like maybe they're going to check out my gallbladder using the famed Peekaboo Procedure.  I foooouuuund you little Gallbladder!  Who's a silly little Gallbladder?  That's right!  You're a silly litt...

But apparently it's not that.  Apparently, I have to go to the hospital (read: not the Doctor's office, the hospital, where people go to die and stuff) and put on a gown, and then they inject radioactive material into my blood and take pictures to see what happens.  I read an article outlining the procedure to my husband, and put lots of really loud emphasis on things like RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL and FLUSH TWICE AFTER YOU PEE FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS BECAUSE OF THE RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL.  

Husband paused me in the middle of my read and said, incredulously, "You think you're gonna become the Hulk, don't you?!?"  

Me: Yes I do, thankyouverymuch, because I'm NOT an idiot.  I know how these stories always end, and if it's not The Hulk, it's a post-bombing Nagasaki situation and I'm not really interested in either, if I'm being completely honest here.

Anyway, so that's what's happening now.  I'm a little bit terrified, but the doctor keeps trying to convince me that it's totally okay to inject yourself with radiation, and that the fact that it has to happen at the hospital shouldn't concern a person at all.  Ah well.  It'll be pretty exciting to see my pee glow like a night light, so... there's that.  

So long folks, here's hoping that all goes well, and that I can stop feeling like a Poo-Burger 100% of the days of my life.  Also, that if I get superpowers, they include flying or telekinesis and that I'm the type of superhero that looks super sexy in a unitard!! 

The Numbers Game

Today I am tired and lazy.  I should be getting some work done for tomorrow, or cleaning up my messy home, or... I don't know.  Whatever it is, instead of doing that, I'm browsing around Pinterest (I hate Pinterest) and watching a romantic comedy.

Also, I'm doing some calculations.

I don't know if you've realized this yet, but I really like numbers.  I really like doing calculations.  In high school, I would figure out my projected grade in every class, in every possible manner.  For example, what's the best grade I can get in Geometry if I were to just skip this next test? Now what's my projected grade in Geometry (by assuming that the rest of my homework/test grades will continue on for all future homework/tests) if I skip this test?  Get an A on this test?  Get a D on this test?  You get the idea.  I also did this as a favor for other similarly neurotic but less mathematically inclined members of my class.  These days, I like calculating body fat percentages.  And monthly budgets.  And estimating future weight loss goal-dates.  And calculating debt repayment schedules.

This fact, and the fact that I have an historical tendency to read while I walk, well, these things are in a constant battle to win the award of "Nerdiest thing about me".

Anyway, back to the numbers.  I like numbers because they're objective and constant and in general they help me feel like I have a better understanding of my universe.  So those people who say that you "shouldn't look at the numbers" when losing weight, that you should just focus on how you feel in your own body, well, those people are stupid and wrong.  The numbers are the very thing I work for.

My measurements... of course I know them.  But they're my own business.  And you don't get to know them.  And seriously, isn't that a little crazy??  If you ever, ever read this site, you know my weight.  You've even seen terrifying and graphic pictures of my giant shortly-post-baby belly.  (Sidenote:  I like to scroll up from the bottom and watch myself get fatter.  Then at the top picture, I say, "Bloop!" when my belly gets too big to fit in my shorts.  It's nice.)  You've seen all of that, but I will absolutely not be telling you my measurements.  Those are my numbers and they are private.

Anyway, all that nerdiness and potential psychopathy aside, here's some numbers on my mind now:

176- Starting post-Kaden weight
minus
120- Goal weight
equals
56 total pounds to lose.  Oye.  That's an awful big number.

150- Current weight
Which means:
26 pounds lost
30 pounds to go

Meaning that as of today I am 46% of the way finished with this mess.  I thought this all up today and realized that the number was smaller than 50% and I was super duper bummed out.

But here's two bits of good news to pull me back from the edge.  Numero one: I only have 3.5 more pounds to lose to reach my lowest pre-preggo weight.  That means all of this starts to "count" as real life weight-loss sometime in the (hopefully) not too distant future.  That'll be a good day.  Also, number dos:  weight loss isn't like debt, where you have it and you have it and you have it until it's gone.  It gets better along the way.  I wore my good ol' size 6 skinny jeans today, AND they were fully buttoned, WITH a belt, AND a tres chic lady from my church told me that, in my skinny jeans and 9 year old over-sized dress shirt, I ALSO looked tres chic. That was awesome, whereas, a couple of months ago, I couldn't button any of my jeans so I was still wearing maternity pants.  That was less awesome.

This journey is hard.  Even when it's fast, it's very, veeeery slow.  But today is better than yesterday, and tomorrow, hopefully it's better yet.

That's all for tonight.  Movie's over, which means that it is bed time for this lady.   See you later internets!

Every Ten Pounds!!

Since June 12th, when I was weighing in around 170, I decided to take some painfully graphic "Every Ten Pounds" progress pics.  I wanted to have a standardized (read: wearing the same thing every time) way to see the progress I'm making.  I just haven't had the cojones to post them yet.  But then I thought, well, why not.  So today, here's the first few editions of my ETP pics, which will also be posted in The Pics, so that I can have a running collection some day that will help me remember why we don't eat seconds and choose whole fruit instead of ice cream.

Deep breaths.


It's not pretty.


Ridiculous levels of honesty seldom are.


Here we go.


In just a minute...


Okay, no more stalling.



This is it.



I swear.



Right.

Here's the first set, from mid June.  I weighed right around 170.  Apparently, from the look on my face, I was also "ready to kill myself" depressed about it.

Here's the next set, from late July, and I'm around 160.  Somewhat less depressed about my life, it would seem.  Which is nice.

Welcome to today, with a morning weigh in at juuuust under 150.

So the next time you hear me get all crazy and excited or call myself super crazy hot and sexy for no apparent reason.... these pictures are why.  I'm not "there" yet, but good gracious, at least I'm still not in that first set of pics.  Yikes.

Chugging along!

152.4.  Which is better than yesterday's 153.0, but means I still need to do some more work in order to see that 151 again.  The 140s are so close I can almost taste them.  But I won't, because I'll probably think they're delicious and eat too much of them and then have to start all this mess all over again.

My absolute lowest lowest lowest low during the last bout of weight losing was 146.5.  I've told Husband that none of this weight loss feels like it counts until I'm 1 pound below, heck, even a fraction of a pound below that previous low weight.  But that's how it feels just the same.  Even though I got an awesome-sauce baby out of the deal, losing pounds I've lost before feels exactly like that.  Like redoing work I've already done.

Got a little reminisc-y this weekend.  Saturday was exactly one year since the afternoon I had my suspicions confirmed by a second line on a plastic stick.  Our lives were about to change forever... again.  Let me tell you: kids are exhausting.  They ruin your physique, hurt your back, absorb your attention and change every aspect of your life.  Plus, they're totally totally awesome.  They're fun and ridiculous and a blast to have around.  At least, MY kids are, I'm not speaking for anyone else's. ;)

So it's been a year since I started gaining weight back, and I'm almost, ALMOST where I was then.  September 1, 2011 was 151.  Let's see if I can't be a little under that for September 1, 2012!

Oh, and one more milestone achieved:  I CAN OFFICIALLY BUTTON MY SIZE 6 SKINNY JEANS AGAIN!!  I'm not saying I'm wearing them yet, and I'm not saying it's pretty, I'm just saying they got buttoned, and nothing exploded as a result.  I think I may set some new goals for me like, button up something in a size 2 before the end of the year.  We'll see how it goes...

Right now it's coffee time, then it's do something productive with my life time.  Happy Tuesday y'all, hope it's one worth remembering!

Bandaids and Bullhorn Demons

Tomorrow is my official weekly weigh-in, but today was one of those crazy-great weigh ins that I have to record lest it no longer be true tomorrow.

Today, I got down to 151.6.

It's not a milestone or anything, it's just so exciting to see the weight keep dropping.  I've been thinking about this whole "weight loss journey" thing lately, and I gotta tell ya.  I'm freaking sick of it.

We went to a birthday party on Saturday, and I was surprised to find that it didn't even take a great deal of personal resolve to turn down the cupcakes, to walk past most of the lunch spread and stick to fruit and salad.  "No thanks."  That's all it takes, really, to NOT eat a cupcake.  Just 'no thanks', and the proffered snack goes away.

Well, at least that's how things look on the outside, but that "no thanks" still takes a lot of training.  Have you been there?  You're offered a food you love, and you know you shouldn't.  It wouldn't be good for your diet, and you know, you KNOW, that you can have that thing again some other day.  But then there's this little part of you, this little demon with a bullhorn who gets alerted that you just turned down some delicious food substance.  And then she wakes up, and decides to engage Logical You in some friendly conversation.

Bullhorn Demon: Hey!  HEY!! What do you mean by turning down that cupcake?
Logical You: I'm on a diet, I don't need the calories right now.
BD: Nonononononononoooo. Go ahead, tell them you changed your mind!!
LY: Don't worry about it, we're not having a cupcake today.  I know it looks good but..
BD: Call them back, SNEAK THE DAMN THING IF YOU HAVE TO!
LY: Okay, no.  I know it looks good but I don't think I should be sneaking around a kids birthday party stealing food...
BD: What the heck are you doing woman, you just turned down THE LAST CUPCAKE IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE!!!! YOU'LL REGRET THIS DECISION FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!  YOUR CHILDREN'S CHILDREN'S CHILDREN WILL TELL STORIES ABOUT HOW THEIR GRANDMOTHER RUINED HER WHOLE LIFE BY SKIPPING THAT BIRTHDAY PARTY CUPCAKE!!!!!!
LY: ...

I'm not sure if you've met her, but my Bullhorn Demon is loud.  And clinically insane.  And, I'm pretty sure, at least somewhat suicidal.  I spend my life trying to keep her locked up, for her safety and mine, but you know, after Deinstitutionalization and all...

So yeah, I'm sick of this diet, but I do not mean to quit.  If I quit, I would feel bad about myself.  I would just look down in a week or a month or a year and see the same jiggly midsection  and think, "wow, better hit that diet again".  Quitting doesn't make the stupid diet go away.

Finishing does.

Quitting just makes that stupid Bullhorn Demon feel empowered next time.  Quitting gives her a bigger bullhorn, and I'm having trouble hearing other people talk as it is.  So I'm sick of this diet and I'm doing whatever I can to get freaking over it.  I want to hit 120.  When I started, I had 56 pounds to lose to get there.  As of today, I have just under 32.  If I lose 2 pounds a week, I can get into the 120's before the holidays, and if I don't holiday myself into oblivion, reach my goal weight before Christmas.

This is my motivation.  I don't want to feel chubby this fall or this winter or for the rest of my life.  I want to get fit and toned and thin, and then I want to see what it's like to just move on, to just live my  life.

Now don't get me wrong.  There is still a wonderful aspect to the experience of losing weight.  It's great to have goals and then meet them.  It's great to see yourself become a better version of yourself.  But of course, it's a journey, not a destination, and I certainly don't want to be this weight-loss "work in progress" forever.

It takes a lot.  Maybe I could still be losing weight if I strayed a little, if I ate a little more, if I wasn't exercising.  But I'm not interested in that.  When you pull of the bandaid, you don't stretch out that activity slowly out of the next few weeks and watch each painful little hair you pull out of your arm.  No!  You grab that thing and pull it off as fast as you freaking can.  You grit your teeth and make it hurt like crazy for a couple seconds, then you MOVE ON WITH YOUR LIFE.  And I'm ready, folks.  I am so, so ready for the after part to come.

So take a deep, deep breath, grab the corner and...

Why I hate Pinterest

At first, I didn't really get it.  What?  You want to look at pretty pictures of things that other people thought looked pretty too?

But... so Google wasn't enough, because you wanted other people to know about your pretty picture fetish, am I right?

Then I sort of got it... but only sort of.  Because it was a nice place to store recipes I came across online.    Hey, sure beats having fifty thousand sporadic bookmarks saved to my browser, and it beats "hoping I use the exact same search words so I can find the website I'd looked up last week".  Which wasn't totally working for me.

Now, I totally get it.  And I totally, totally hate it.  Here is why:

1) I don't really think my life needed a new way to waste time on the internets.  I guess on the bright side, it keeps me off of Facebook and Twitter. So. you know. Balance.

2) It makes me feel bad because I don't have as good of ideas as other people who exist.

3) I'm learning that just because something has been pinned or there's a pretty picture with it, doesn't mean it's functional or tasty or true. That's deceptive.  I need user reviews and star ratings to survive on the internet.

4) It makes me feel bad because my house isn't as clean as other people who exist.

5) In general, being "repinned" or "followed" or "favorited" or "liked by other humans", well, these are not my strong suits.  I didn't need an additional place to worry about whether or not I'm deemed acceptable to the rest of humanity.

6)  It makes me feel bad because my house isn't as organized as other people who exist.

7) My husband says my t-shirt scarf still looks like a t-shirt.

8) It makes me feel bad because I wear ugly clothes.  For example, I wear a t-shirt scarf that still looks like a t-shirt.

9) It makes me feel bad because my daughter has yet to experience "finger painting".  And because I've never had her make melted-microwavable crayons.  Or blow up a bar of soap. Or play masking tape games on the carpet. And I probably won't be throwing her the world's most adorable, perfect, themed, 3rd birthday party ever.  And I've never even made her a tutu.

10) It makes me feel bad because my cooking is lame and pretty much never worthy of photography.

11) And last, and vastly most importantly: I'm on a damn diet.  I know that the entirety of humanity is not also on a diet, and that the pinterest community is not responsible for my diet, but come on.  A BROWNIE-CUPCAKE WITH COOKIE DOUGH FROSTING?!? Whoever invented that is just being a jerk.  Or the devil, if all the devil really wants is for everyone to take regular insulin shots.

Honestly, this last problem is affecting me all over my life right now.  Some of you know I work with Autistic children, and I work in people's homes.  In one of these homes, the client's father likes to leave the TV on during our lessons.  And he likes the Cooking Channel.  And the Food Network.   And pretty much all the broadcast eaters you can find.  So for about 3 hours a week, I get to listen to people cook and bake and mmmmm and munch and crunch and TALK WITH FOOD IN THEIR MOUTHS, PAULA DEAN I WILL FREAKING CHOKE YOU WITH A STICK OF BUTTER IF YOU DON'T STOP THAT THANK YOU VERY MUCH, and it used to be that I could just ignore it, but now I can't.  Because I haven't had a burger in about 3 weeks.  And I haven't had anything dessert-ish in over a month.

They tell you not to totally deprive yourself because then you'll binge and it'll all be worse.  I can see that, because I can honestly say that the food cravings I have these days would put any pregnant lady to shame.  I waaaaaaaant sugar so bad it hurts.  I go on Pinterest and find that someone just posted 27 of the most ridiculously decadent desserts I've ever seen and it makes me want to cry but I can't look away.  Because my brain wants me to be fatter again.  Apparently Pinterest does too.

But I'm not doing it.  After my body "settled" post pregnancy numero two, I had 56 pounds I wanted to lose.  I've knocked off 22 of them.  I only have 34 more to go.  I can do it.  I think I can do.  Yeah, I can do it. That is of course, if Pinterest doesn't kill me first. Y'all.

Today, and why it was a not good day.

"They" tell you not to skip meals when you're trying to lose weight.  "They" say it's because you'll feel super hungry and overeat at the rest of your meals and then you'll get even fatter and be simultaneously hungry and fat and sad and hugely unpleasant to be around.  Or something like that.

I can attest to the fact that "they" are right.

I didn't try to starve myself to lose weight.  I did it because they wanted to take pictures of my insides and the doctor wanted my insides to look skinny and not be stuffed with breakfast.  Or lunch, since my ultrasound didn't take place till nearly 2pm.  If your curious, that meant I hadn't had anything to eat for like, 16 hours, and that I couldn't have any coffee to make up for the fact that my daughter woke me up at 2am because she bumped her head and needed "messasin" and to be held, and my son woke me up at 4 because he's a right hungry little sucker.

They really shouldn't call it a fast.  They really should call it some of the slowest most unpleasant 16 hours of the your life, because knowing you can't eat only makes you want to eat more, and so then you feel like you might have to die.

I have been unpleasant company all day long.

Today I got to meet the world's chattiest ultrasound tech, an occupation filled with chatty people to begin with.  I got to learn how many dead babies she's seen inside of people (that's not funny, it was and is and always will be absolutely horrifying), I got to learn how her ex-husband (the bastard) was sleeping with an 18 year old CHILD who worked in his office at the time that she thought she might have lost the 3rd of her 3 daughters, the one that was a late-in-life accident and a little scary since she was already 43 at the time and her second child actually has Down Syndrome.  I got to learn that she, like my nurse from the last appointment, has IBS, and some pretty gory... specifics... of that.

And lastly, I got to learn that I don't have stones in my gall.  She's "not supposed to say" (it has something to do with the dead babies), but she let me see my gallbladder, which was free of white specs, which is a good sign.

Except that of course, I still have no idea what's wrong with me.

I don't know, maybe it is IBS.  Maybe that's why God keeps handing me overly-informative medical professionals.  Maybe I'll give some of that Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt a try.