This is what my doctor said she wanted to see the next time I come in for an appointment.
Given our country's propensity towards ever-expanding waistlines, I'm guessing doctors these days spend a good deal of their time coming up with euphemisms for "girl, you are FAT!" And since "you've got too much junk in the trunk" is probably not doctor-office-appropriate, "I'd like to see less of you next time," is a fairly innocuous way to get the point across that perhaps you are packing too many extra pounds. And by "you," I mean "I". I am packing too many pounds.
Not, like 100 extra pounds or anything. No one's going to be suggesting I audition for The Biggest Loser (which? no. the closest I EVER want to get to trainer turned painwhore drill sargeant Jillian Michaels is her 30 Day Shred. and even then? No.). I watch The Biggest Loser up until about week 10; that's about the time their bodies start to look like mine (although I find myself asking Husband around week 9--"is that what I look like?" and he suggests a little bit of counseling for body dysmorphic disorder might be helpful), and I'm too jealous of their continued weight-loss success to be able to watch the rest of the series. Up until that point, I cheer them on, get weepy when they get weepy, etc. Once their bodies look like mine & I know in 2 more weeks they're going to be at my goal weight & it's going to take me 6 months to get there? Whatever, bitch. I'd rather watch Ace of Cakes.
But the point is, there's weight to lose. And when you come from a family that just can't get enough of it's high blood pressure (the family tree is rife with hypertension), and when you were diagnosed at 28 and your doctors takes your pressure 3-4 times at each appointment because "it might be lower next time," (um, yeah, doctor, when you say that? That kind of has the opposite effect of what you're going for, but thanks), it's a good idea to take it seriously.
For several months, I let it go. Losing weight is kind of impossible when you're on medications that make you, well, gain weight. And from November to March of this past year, that's exactly what I was doing with my body. Every little shot into my belly of Follistim was a like a slab of cheesecake directly into my midsection, but without the tasty pay-off (or a resulting baby, for that matter; thank you very much cruel universe). Do you bloat a little when you ovulate? Yeah. During those months I was ovulating upwards of 8-10 eggs. So, "bloat" doesn't quite cover it. And somehow, each month, a little bit of that bloat stuck around. Toss in the fact that the same span of time encompassed the holidays AND the emotional eating that someone with questionable coping skills is bound to fall back on, and VOILA!!! You have one chubby mama on your hands.
So fine. When a doctor tells you to lose weight, you lose weight. Three weeks ago I joined Weight Watchers. And as with so much of my life, part of the reason I joined, beyond the whole losing weight thing, was so that I could blog about it. Because Oh.My.G-d. Weight Watchers meetings are a trip, people. Yay for me, I've lost almost 5lbs (on top of another 5 that has come off since I stopped with the IF treatments), so that's great. But the meetings!
My group leader? Her name is Perky. That's what's on her little name tag. Perky. I don't know if that's her G-d-given name, if it appears on her birth certificate, or if she actually chose to call herself that. But that's the name on her name tag. Perky.
And she is. Bless her heart, she loves her some Weight Watchers. As do all the other women in the meetings. It's like they pump happy air into the room through the ventilation system and I am the only one who is somehow immune. Maybe it's because I'm new & have not yet ingested enough of their kool-aid (and by kool-aid I mean their chemical & sodium infused processed food products), but I cannot find the same giddiness in losing .2lbs as the other ladies. This past week, that's what I lost (after 3.5lbs the week before) & you'd have thought I deserved a parade. "Losing .2lbs is better than gaining .2lbs!!!!" the receptionist squeaked as she wrote my new weight down in about 4 different places (the WW paper trail is massive). I got a "bravo" star sticker & everything, y'all.
I also get a gold star sticker every time I raise my hand to answer a question (because I am in 3rd grade, right?) Sadly, I have to admit to a bit of a Monica Gellar streak, in that no matter how hard I try to fight it, if I know the answer to a question, something in the fiber of my being compels me to raise my hand a la "I know! I know! I know!" (has that show been off the air long enough that references to specific dialogue are no longer relevant? If so? I don't want to hear about it. let me live in denial). I have a lot of gold stars. I'm not proud of that.
So every Wednesday from here on in, I will be donning my absolutely lightest articles of clothing for weigh-in. Everyone at preschool drop off notes how nicely dressed I am on Wednesdays because I am always in some light flowy skirt or sundress. They probably think I am engaging in some sort of inappropriate Wednesday morning tryst, because the rest of the week I'm sporting my heavy jeans & a shlumpy t-shirt; but alas, I'm just trying to get the number on the scale to be as low as humanly possible, and apparently Weight Watchers frowns upon naked weigh-ins.
Let's hope this week I get to my first full 5lb loss; I've promised myself that with each 5lb increment, I am treating myself to a foot massage & pedicure (seriously, people, they have foot spas up here---just foot massages. For an hour. oh sweet fancy Moses, I cannot wait.)