I have lost 32 lbs. I’ve gone from nearly a size 16 to a size 10. I still have about 10 lbs. to lose before I am at my totally-reasonable goal weight. I’m not going to overdo it and become a stick figure. I am not going for “The Thigh Gap” look. (Please Google it. It really is a thing. It also is really making some girls go to serious and potentially dangerous extremes. Body image fads are scary.) I am not looking to become a runway model. (‘Cause, let’s face it…that’s never gonna happen.) But, I do want to be comfortable and I am not quite there yet.
I’ve been at this whole diet (a four-letter word I detest) thing since February, though I prefer to call it a journey. It is hard and I dislike everything about it, except the results. I dislike the rabbit food. “Just have a salad!” HA! No thank you. I would rather have a half-dozen pancakes, if you please? With syrup. And bacon on the side. I dislike not just being able to eat bread and crackers and bagels and stuff I love whenever I want with no consequences. Or, more honestly, without caring about consequences. At this point, I know when I’ve had an off day. I can feel it.
I’ve also had an off month. A month where I was so stressed out – so very, very busy – I knew something had to go. Something had to give, had to change, at least temporarily, or I would not be in an okay place mentally. Therefore, I sacrificed the diet. And, I decided since I’d done really well I wouldn’t berate myself for slacking off.
I’m feeling a little bit better now, though, so the mean, nasty, evil diet thing has to start again. Even though I’ll complain bitterly about rabbit food and portion sizes and other things that are good for me, I simply cannot argue with the results. I haven’t been this small in…well…many, many years.
I’ve also slacked off on my walking, which is something I truly enjoy. I enjoy it more when one or both of my kiddos come with me. The other day I decided, somewhat on a whim, I must go for a walk because I hadn’t taken one in quite a while. I asked boy-child if he wanted to go with me because, well, he’d spent the first 9 weeks of school on the Cross Country team and was able to run two miles in less than 16 minutes. A feat, I, on my best day couldn’t accomplish. Boy-child said, “Funny you should ask that, Mom, because I was just going to ask you if you wanted to walk?”
Well, girl-child heard about the pending bipedal trek and decided she should come, too. Far be it for me to deny her the opportunity, so I told her we’d be happy to have her join us. When I turned around and saw boy-child’s face, he looked crestfallen. “Mo-om!” he said quietly so his sister wouldn’t hear. “I thought it was just going to be you and me!” I explained to him how important it was to include his younger sister sometimes, even when he didn’t want to.
Our journey went off without a hitch, was infinitely enjoyable, and, though boy-child feared his sister would slow us down, she did not. In fact, she kept pace quite well, and kept up a stream of happy chatter.
(My husband claims the reason for my level of enjoyment of this 30 minute expedition into the wilderness of our neighborhood was due to a half glass of wine I’d had before we left. I contend he is mistaken. Wine the journey does not make.)