I've been fighting my weight for about 3 years, now. It goes up. It goes down. It goes up again. Then, it goes down, but not so much as last time. Then it goes up again, a whole lot faster than before. It's really rather disturbing to see my body mutiny against me like this.
I used to be proud to be able to honestly say, "Nah! I don't own a scale. I judge my weight by how well my clothes fit." God damn, that sounds pretentious as all hell! Maybe I deserve this weight war for ever having uttered those words.
Today, I finally gave up on being that person ever again. It's gotten to the point that I CAN'T judge my weight based on my clothes. I've got clothes for all weights! On the rare occasion that I want to gauge how much weight I have or have not lost, I put on my size 8 black slacks. Or rather, I TRY to put them on. Depending on how far up my thighs they get tells me how I'm doing. Except that it really doesn't tell me how I'm doing. It makes me reach for the closest chocolate edible thing and whoof it down jealously like a starved dog guards a bone.
Somehow, I can usually look at myself in the mirror and rationalize the extra weight.
"Geez! These jeans must have been washed in warm water. Hmm..."
"Gah! I just hate it when I retain water like this!"
Or, my favorite,
"At least my boobs are plump when I'm overweight."
I've completely given up on the old Mom's stand-by excuse of, "It's baby weight." My youngest child is a 4-year old.
I've had it with the excuses, the rationalizations, and even the legitimate reasons as to why I have not taken this weight off! It's about time that I keep track of the numbers and really monitor how much I weight every day.
So, I bought the dreaded scale. The most evil torture device ever created. Of course, I stood on it as soon as I got it home. I was expecting somewhere between 180 and 200. It was 184. My ideal weight is 150. I'd like to get down to 145, but 150 is still perfectly healthy and slim for my body. If I were 150 pounds, I could wear size 8-10 pants again. I'm in a 14 right now, with not much room for the girl scout cookies that I love so much at this time of year.
I think I really need to commit to this weight loss thing. I mean, really commit. I'm thinking I may even price the local gym and see if it's in the budget. It would give me some time away from the kids and husband, something that is just for ME, and I would feel good about it. Not that I wouldn't feel good about curling up with a book, a Hershey's bar, and mug of creamy vanilla chai tea, but then I'd still have to face the scale sitting obtrusively near the toilet every time I go in there.
So, we'll see how this all works. Who knew that such a relatively inexpensive hunk of metal could make me feel so inspired and so resentful all at the same time?