Let the record show that I have been a size 10 or larger (usually larger) since the 8th grade.
I’d like to submit this unedited photo of myself wearing size 6 jeans today (while angels apparently sang, judging by the [also unedited] lighting in this image.)

Holl. Ah.

NOTE: As previously mentioned earlier this year, I promise not to turn this into one of “those blogs” where I constantly talk about my eating habits or weight loss. Not only is it pathetic, but it’s also boring.

In the spirit of my New Life and New Changes campaign, I decided it was high time to get myself back on Weight Watchers. I’m not gonna lie here; this summer I went cah-razygoNUTS. It all started in early July when I said, “I think I’m going to celebrate summer by having a week of ice cream!” It sounded like one of those things you dream about doing as a kid and put on that List of Things to Do When I Grow Up and Can Do Whatever I Want to execute when there’s not a parent around to monitor your every move. (Although that usually changes to stuff like beer for breakfast by the time one finds his/her first freedoms.) And I figured it wouldn’t really do any harm as long as I kept it in moderation…

… Unfortunately, I completely forgot about my inability to do anything with moderation, which is weird because I base all my daily habits around that idea and how it’s previously ruined my life… I guess I thought that because ice cream never landed anyone in rehab, I’d be okay with a little overindulgence. Anyway, two scoops of ice cream a day turned into a giant cup, which then turned into a daily Reese’s Sonicblast. So, when I realized I needed to curb that a little, I decided to, instead, treat myself to a large Cherry Sprite every Friday (it’s like Happy Hour for sober people! And between 2 and 4 p.m. it’s only a dollar! Whee!) And again, this slowly morphed into a cherry Sprite every Monday (on my way to meditation) AND Friday and then an ice cream on Wednesday and sometimes Saturday and even a fully-loaded Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger a quarter of the time. (Although I never once ordered fries. That has to count for something, right?) And before I knew it, I had a straight up sugar-and-gross-fats addiction for a solid 6 weeks.

Now, admittedly, I did this with the full knowledge and acceptance of what I was doing and how it was going to negatively affect me. One of the things I loathe is how people (especially Americans) put on weight because they eat like sumo wrestlers and then start acting like victims of some imaginary system that’s shoving crap down their throats. So I decided not to be like that and own up to any weight gain or breakouts that would inevitably occur because of my deliberate decisions. Somehow that made the whole thing seem a little bit more sane and self-controlled… Although it might just be more mindgames I’m playing on myself. Ah well.

Anyway, somehow, despite 6 WEEKS of pretty-much-daily overindulgence, I only managed to put on about 6 lbs. Don’t ask me how it happened; I’m just grateful. In the stress of the move, we just went overboard on the eating-crap-constantly because we didn’t have time to make anything and we didn’t want to shop for anything perishable if we were just going to lose it in boxes for a week. (When my friend came over to help us pack the house, I repaid her by giving her 85% of the contents in her fridge/freezer. She left with two boxes of stuff.)

Now that we’re settled in, however, it seems like a perfect time to start some habits like making a real, balanced, dinner every night (something I’ve postponed long enough and want Chloe to grow up with and count on every day like I did. I think my parents may have ordered a pizza once annually until I was 13, but I don’t remember any of those times. We went to Taco Bell or Wendy’s a couple times a month, but usually for lunch or after dance practice when we’d had time to work it off.) and keeping fresh fruit in the house (which means making weekly trips to the grocery store. Something else I’ve been avoiding… usually I can go 10-14 days before the bananas, bread, and milk run out.) And Weight Watchers is just one of those ways that I can keep myself in check without wanting to abandon within days. This is due not only to the leniency and mentality of “trying to change your lifestyle vs. dieting” aspect of the WW plan but also because I’m not apt to bail on something I’ve paid good money for. And frankly, I’m amazed with how much I can eat when I’m making good decisions, which sounds so cheesy and cliche but is totally true. If I wanted to, I could eat something like 35 large peaches a day (no, literally) on the specific plan I’m on… not that that sounds balanced or interesting but it could be done! Same with strawberries, blueberries, carrots, apples… Suffice to say that grazing all day on fresh fruit and veggies hardly seems like a miserable “Celery and Cabbage Soup ONLY!” diet most people seem to resort to, although I guess this has a lot to do with my considering fresh produce one of the luxury of being Southern in the summertime. (If nothing else, it certainly makes putting up with the heat and humidity seem worthwhile.) This time on WW, I’m totally milking it and have printed out every recipe that looks remotely interesting and even started separate WW recipe binders marked “Easy” “Moderate” and “Hard” that I’ve individually divided by course and meal contents… Because I’m a dork. I recognize this. But basically, I’m getting their overpriced cookbooks for the price of ink and that works for me. Aside from getting ideas for healthy eating (I’m clueless to anything past salads), I’m also learning how to cook in general, which is sad considering that I have a mother who cooks extensively daily, I’m 26 fer Chrissakes, and I do love to eat. But still. I’m happy about it and it seems like a perfect time to start new habits. I’ve reset my goal weight and hope to achieve it by Thanksgiving-ish but it’s not my top priority, believe it or not.

(Again, I promise not to talk about it much since I don’t want to be one of “those bloggers” who chronicles her weight loss like she’s making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It doesn’t take courage to lose weight. I’m sorry; it just doesn’t. Sure, changing your habits and your life is something to be proud of for sure, but it’s not a huge accomplishment to treat your body the way it’s supposed to be treated. Running a marathon or being able to run 5 miles in 30 minutes deserves praise, sure. But doing stuff that normal people do every day like getting basic activity or not eating Cheetos and soda constantly doesn’t garner any respect from me. At all.)

And I’m feeling pretty good about everything until yesterday when I decided to try making Chicken Breast with Honey-Balsamic Glaze. I swear I can’t go a week without some sort of ridiculous, intolerable ache or pain. As I was pouring this still-boiling glaze over the chicken with a filtered ladle and moving it over to the sink, a tiny drip hit the pad of my index finger and gave me the single worst burn I’ve ever had in my life. I hate to whine because it’s only the size of a dime but Jesus Christ it effing hurt. I have a whole new level of respect for burn victims now. I felt a few layers of skin peel away immediately and bubble into a yummy oozing blister and for the next three hours, my hand hurt to the bone. I’m not exaggerating. The generalized ache spread over to my middle finger and thumb and I was in that constant state of “OH GOD!” for at least the first hour. (I was proud of myself for limiting my coarse language to “OH GOD!”s and “OOWWWW!”s. I’m working hard on cleaning up my language around Chloe as I’m flippantly foul-mouthed even by adult standards - which is increasingly trashier the older I get - so I think this was a notable occasion.) After I figured out that a handful of ibuprofen, reapplying aloe cream frequently and changing the physical position of my arm every few minutes was helpful, it got better but again, OWwwwww-ah!

I really don’t mean to whine about it like it’s something major. Again, I’m now in awe of those people who survived house or car fires, explosions, chemical burns or even motorcycle muffler burns. I had a tiny second degree burn on a relatively tough part of my skin and was in agony for hours, so I don’t even want to try to wrap my mind around the idea something bigger than that. Makes me want to start donating skin for grafting or something.

And honestly, I’m fine. It’s a little achy today and I have a massive bandage on it that’s caused me to spend at least twice the time typing this than it usually would’ve taken. But I’m perfectly okay. No ER visit, no fear of going into shock, nothing more than an hour of elevated heart-rate, sweating, and pain. Just like labor, but smaller and more concentrated.

Um, despite my ever-present search for a lesson or sign in this I just don’t think there is one. Except for the obvious “Be careful”… unless this is a sign that I should stick to pasta and canned chicken, which I’m not willing to settle for.

But I am a little leery to jump back on board, especially considering I got this recipe from my “Easy” folder. Maybe I’m better off with tomato sandwiches and yogurt smoothies for a while.

Let’s talk about me. Just a little more.

~ Aside from the actual relationships I’ve had, I’ve been on a lot of “dates” with various men/boys over the years. (At the moment, I’m not including casual sexual romps in this list of dates.) The problem with me, however, is that during many many of these incidents, I didn’t realize we were on an actual date until later on in the evening when he went to pay for dinner or a movie or tried to make out with me and I found myself in the awkward position of having to “reject” someone with whom I’d honestly never entertained thoughts of romance/sex/etc. You’d think I would’ve learned how to differentiate but then, I didn’t even know my now-husband was into me until the moment he kissed me.

~ I hate Scooby-Doo. Always have. It’s boring, it’s annoying and it don’t make me laugh.

~ I now weigh in lighter than I have in 9 years, since the spring of 2000 when I went on the Atkins Diet and lost 15 lbs in two weeks that immediately came back when I allowed myself more than 15 grams of carbohydrates a day. If I lose another five pounds (which I plan to) I will be the lightest I have been since the 8th freaking grade. (This is all sort of surreal to me as I’ve struggled for over a decade to be rid of this extra baby weight and am now watching it slowly melt away without frantic overexertion like I’m used to.)

~ There are some old guys (over 60) who rank in my Top Ten Sexiest List. However, my Top Ten Sexiest Old Guys List looks like this:

1) DUSTIN FREAKING HOFFMAN
2) Ed Harris
(Gran and I share a little crush on this one. Yum.)
3) Paul Newman circa early 2008.
(I know, I know. He’s not around anymore, but I still think he’s fresh enough to keep on the list, although at #3 instead of #2.)
4) Patrick Stewart
4) David Bowie
(I cheated. It’s a tie for #4.)
5) Morgan Freeman
6) Tom Robbins
(That’s right; I’m such a nerd that writers made my list.)
7)Pete Townshend
(Yeah, I was all about Daltrey but the man just didn’t age well.)
8 ) Mark Harmon
(So I’m a typical housewife; so sue me.)
9) Ian McKellen
(I don’t care whose team he plays for. The man’s handsome.)
10) Harrison Ford
(I’m sorry. He’s a cliche but he’s so necessary.)

(Yeah, I never got on the Sean Connery bandwagon. In fact, I think he’s a little overrated. Sorry.)

~ Screw “Wicked Games”, the most turned on I have ever been and continue to be while watching a music video is watching Pelle Almqvist screaming and rocking out in “Hate to Say I Told You So.” Something about a teeny tiny man with a tremendous ego who can scream like a banshee is so freaking hot to me. (And that sexy, exhausted face he makes while keeping the beat during the bass break… oh man.) I still enjoy a good one-handed viewing of that video from time to time.

I have officially reached the halfway mark in my weight-loss goal. While losing 23 lbs is exciting enough, the knowledge that I haven’t been this light in 9 years (since I went on the Atkins diet and felt like death for a solid month) adds a little extra dose of sweetness to the equation. 

However, because this recent weight-loss has mostly been fueled by a loss of appetite (due to medicinal circumstances) I don’t actually feel as great as I have when I’ve been trying to lose weight because I’ve not been feeling good enough to work out. This is something I’m planning to change after the stress of this weekend dies down and the weather begins to shift (HOORAY FOR WALKS ON THE BEACH!) because I like how I feel when I’m physically active and I especially like how my body looks when it’s toned and more athletically able. 

Not to sound pessimistic at all, but the one major problem I’m running into is the problem with my wardrobe. Being that I’ve been a size twelve for the majority of my life, I have years upon years of this sized attire. Now, these things are loose-fitting, which is an exciting feeling for me, but I simply don’t have the funding to start replenishing my closet. Besides, it seems pointless to spend money on clothes right now if I’m still planning to lose another significant chunk of weight in the next few months that would render any new clothes worthless and, thus, make them complete wastes of money I don’t have. So, for right now it’s a lot of flowy, adjustable skirts and stretchy sweaters.

This being said, I’m not balking at having reached the halfway mark, although to be honest I’m really kind of impressed I’ve stuck with it this far. Even on days when my appetite is in full swing, I’ve been making good choices and never overdoing it, which is an EXTREMELY new practice for me. (Seriously. Only Keith Moon practiced an excessive lifestyle better than me and I’m convinced that it’s only because he was rich.) For the first time in my entire life, taking the five months required to reach the weight goal I’ve set for myself seems manageable and realistic. 23 lbs left to go hardly sounds daunting to me knowing that I’ve been able to successfully handle the first 23. 

It’s weird to realize that I’m finally emerging out of baby fat at 26 years old… with a pregnancy under my belt, no less.

Like I said, I’m not going to make this a weight-loss journey blog (I hate that term, but you know what I mean), but after three weeks of switching over to the Weight Watchers POINTS system [versus counting calories obsessively like I've done for years] and sticking to it 85% of the time, I’ve somehow dropped 10 lbs. and am currently wearing a pair of my Skinny Jeans.

Whoa. These are the type of results I can live with.

I’m impressed! I’m not starving myself, I’m making really kickass recipes from the WW website (seriously, I’d try some of them even if I wasn’t on the program), I’m filling myself up to the brim every day, I’m even “cheating” a couple days a week and, yet, my body is already noticing significant change with my energy levels and overall tone. I’m only hopping on the treadmill an average of three times a week (and I’m REALLY out of shape), but still. This finally feels do-able! I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but at this rate, 40 lbs will be history by mid-spring. That’s really exciting to me, who always loses hope around the 3-week mark into a “diet”. I guess these WW people know what they’re doing in regards to making this a lifestyle change versus just throwing myself into [yet another] “diet”.

Again, I’m just really, genuinely impressed with how well this is working. I don’t feel like I’m hiding out or living a different lifestyle or doing something drastic to myself. I’m just kinda living, making a few tweaks here-and-there and magically losing weight. This is a nice and VERY welcome change.

Hooray for optimism!