Yeah, it's been a while

Just realized my last post was in February. Four months have passed without an update.

To be honest, my blogging coincided with a phase my daughter's were going through, whereby they would ONLY go to sleep at night if someone (often me) sat in the room with them while reading/writing/working on the iPad. Not a great habit, but for a while it was the best part of my day. Twenty uninterrupted minutes to do anything I wanted. Blogging during this time was a good fit. And and I had a lot of say. Or so I thought. But eventually, my girls outgrew this bedtime ritual. And I didn't enjoy the writing process as much because it seemed like all I did was talk about food, being hungry, or trying to find motivation. And if I was feeling this way, I figured that the four people reading this (thank you!) may be thinking the same. So I stopped.

Since I last posted, not a lot has changed. Work is still good. Still doing the Weight Watchers thing. Still losing weight (thankfully) but not nearly at the pace I would have liked (hearing over and over the Beyonce lost 60 pounds of fake-baby pregnancy weight didn't help). I do best with WW when I religiously track my food and plan my meals. When I don't do that I don't lose. It's as simple as that. Not to mention the fact that I've been at this for 11 months and it's hard thinking food all the time. I am lucky to have some wonderful WW friends who provide feedback, support and honesty when I need it most. After sharing with one of them for the ump-teenth time that I had lost my mojo and couldn't seem to find it, she asked me why I stopped blogging. For a while, that had been an easy way for me to keep my thoughts in check. She encouraged me to start writing again. I liked the idea, but I didn't really have the urge to write.

Until tonight.

I've hated doctor's offices my entire life because they weigh you. And no fat girl in her right mind gets on a scale unless she absolutely has to. I am a pro when it comes to avoiding the scale at the doctor's office. How good am I? Up until a month ago, it had been at least two years since I let my PCP weigh me. I am THAT good. Even when I managed to sweet-talk my way out of  the scale, I'd find myself nervously waiting for the doctor to bring up the elephant in the room. And (thankfully) it never happened. On some level, I would like to think my doctor's always knew that it was a super-sensitive subject and decided to spare me the emotional trauma. They knew it was an issue. I knew it was an issue. As long as I was healthy and didn't any weight-related complications it remained nothing more than an elephant in the room.

But today was different. Of all my doctors there is only one that I both like and respect (personally and professionally). I've had an appointment with him for some time and had decided that I was going to walk in, and make that scale MY BITCH. No fear. For the first time in my life I was going to visit a doctor's office and not worry about what the numbers said. I would sit in the exam room without a sense of dread. I had used this appointment as a goal for the last two months and had a number in my head about what I wanted to weigh. I fell short, but given where I started, that was irrelevant. I wasn't even bothered by the fact that the scale in the office was off by 7.5 pounds. My blue WW card says otherwise. And I defer to my WW peeps.

A month ago I went to see my PCP. You would think a significant weight loss would illicit some sort of response. She didn't even notice.  This particular doctor (and his assistant) have known I've been working on my weight for a while. But not numbers.Today, his medical assistant complimented me on my efforts as I walked in. She congratulated me and said I look good. She gave me some words of encouragement before I left. I learned from the doctor that there has been a sizable drop in my BMI. We were both pleased. I feel and look better. I am more confidant. I am more comfortable in my skin and clothes. I also vowed that when I come back next year, there will be a little less of me to look at. I'm not ashamed to brag. . . the reaction I got made my fucking day. In a BIG way. And for that, I am very grateful.

I'm not perfect. I still cheat on Saturdays. I don't know that I will ever truly kick my Mtn. Dew addiction. Shared five-ways, I am not ashamed to admit that the bacon-maple-donut I had this weekend was a culinary organism for the taste buds (and I'd eat it again!). I've also worked hard for 11 months and I won't marginalize my accomplishments because because the number on the scale doesn't say what I would like it to.

Here's to hoping that my mojo is back.