You know when you first start dating someone sometimes you gain a little weight. Too many restaurants. Too many visits to the bars and clubs. Too many after-hours Taco Bell runs because drinking and dancing really work up an appetite.
And then you see a picture of yourselves on one of your first vacations together and you think, “Who is this girl and why does she look like she slathered cottage cheese on her arms?” Eeeeek!
The weight for the both of us eventually came off. Of course, his came off faster and easier. We vowed not to let ourselves indulge so often.
Then married life kicks in and darn it if everything in Georgia is deep-fried. Everything’s bigger in Texas. Hello? THREE LITER SODA BOTTLES?
Don’t forget having some babies thrown into the mix.
Then the deployments started in Virginia. When R wasn’t deployed, he would go on out-of-state trainings for weeks at a time. Most times he’d come home late Friday night and then leave that Sunday.
There was very little time to do anything. Our kids were very disappointed when Daddy was home for literally thirty-six hours every other month. The only time that was left was for tense conversations about who had it worse and how much this duty station sucked ass.
That and entering WE’RE-ON-VACATION-SO-FUCK-IT mode. You know how when you go on vacation you want to do everything and try all the different food and not pay attention to portion size, fat, and/or calories? Well, that’s what we did.
Let’s hurry up and indulge while we can before Daddy leaves. Let’s hurry up and eat Cold Stone Creamery, Chick-Fil-A, Ruby Tuesday (OMG, their salads!), [fill in every calorific place you can think of]! We don’t have to work out or do anything active because Daddy’s only here for a little while!
So is the story of the yo-yo twenty-something pounds that have plagued me for the last decade or so. Every single time I whittle away at that yo-yo and I think the pounds are gone, a little blue line appears on a plastic stick.
Don’t get excited now. While I’m starting to whittle away once again, I AM NOT PREGNANT.
No. I’m not. Not even a little bit pregnant.
This morning I woke up pretty excited to have made some small changes in exercise and diet. I didn’t weigh myself; I go by how my pants are fitting.
Some of you have been blessed and/or have worked hard NOT to have a belly so you might not know what I’m talking about when you start to lose inches from your midsection. Do you know how when a playground ball starts to deflate, it gets wider at the bottom? Yep, it’s happening to me and it’s a bummer but remembering that analogy makes me feel a little better. I could sort of see that happening but nothing noticeable in my arms or legs.
I was disappointed that I wasn’t seeing more results. I know I must be patient and slower weight loss is optimal but come on, can’t I go down a pants size now? Surely I must have lost weight SOMEWHERE.
And then I put my bra on and the damn thing was too big in the cup size.
A couple of disappointments indeed.