Results

Stacey didn't disappoint me yesterday!  She wrote a scathing-ish post on her blog, directed at me.  It definitely found its mark.  Read her advice to me here.  I could barely breathe when I got done reading that.  No one really talks to me like that.  But it's exactly what I needed (and deep down, wanted) to hear.  And I knew she would bring it.  No more pats on the head.

Stop.  Making.  Excuses.

Ummm, ok.

Between yesterday and today, I have lost 1.5 pounds.  I love seeing scale movement!  But today, I did something that I hadn't done since February 1:  I measured.

I figured I had to start somewhere.  Get those numbers back on paper and start the next step of repairing whatever damage I've done (or undone) in the last 2 months.  This is about moving forward, no matter how many steps I take backward.  Always forward.

I was surprised what the tape measure revealed.  

Although I have fallen off the wagon, gotten off track, fill-the-blank with your failure description of choice, there were still results to be seen.  From February 1 to today, I have lost 5 pounds.  It's not great, but it's something.  It's not an overall gain, and I'll take it.  But the most surprising part is that I lost some inches everywhere except one spot in that same time period.  Overall, from February 1 until today, I have lost a total of 4 inches.

Grand total results to date:
Pounds lost:  22
Inches lost:  14.25

I think Stella is getting her groove back.  And it wouldn't be possible without the support and encouragement of all y'all.  Usually, I'll lose a little weight, and then remain permanently in the ditch.   But if Shanon can do it, and is she ever, then by God, I can do it, too!

Shanon, your commitment to this is inspiring me to Press On.

I might even cook something.

Choose Your Hard

Hi. How are you? It's been a while, I know. Do we really need to talk about it? Yeah? Ah, crap. Okay then, here it is.

When life gets crazy, this lifestyle changing thing gets hard. I'm not a fan of hard, unless we're talking about Ryan Reynolds' abs. The other kind, the sort that makes you tired and worn down, is not on my list of FAVE things. Take the last two weeks, for example. It's like a study in What Makes Shanon Lose Her Mind. Losing weight got hard.

It's hard when you get sick. Feeling like you've been backed over by a large truck is not helpful in getting to the gym or preparing meals in the kitchen. That stomach virus laid me smooth out. I didn't feel like moving, much less doing the prep work for a week's worth of breakfast meals. Then when I recovered, I felt so hollow I thought I'd never get full. And there were no groceries in the house. Hello, Sonic.

It's hard when your children get sick. For a few days, I couldn't even plan to leave the room for a few minutes, much less make a menu for the week. Going to the grocery store became the impossible dream.

It's hard when you have kids going in all different directions. After recovering from the Creeping Death, we had to get back into the school, dance, drill team, softball routine. I have four kids going to the far corners of the world every afternoon. Last week, a few went to the ends of the earth for tournaments and competitions. I spend my life in the car, I swear. Swinging through the drive-thru seemed to be the only answer to feed these little people who wail that dreaded cry from the back seats, "I'm hungry!". I couldn't send them off to dance or play on empty stomachs, and once again--no groceries. Sense a pattern here?

It's hard when work gets stressful and you just want to come home and sit without SOMEONE needing SOMETHING from you for five minutes. By the time I walk in the door, it's time to get dinner going if we're going to eat before 8 o'clock at night. The strength to drag out the pans and get a healthy meal on the table began to elude me. The restaurants beckoned, with promises of quick, hot meals made by someone who is not me. While it is possible to eat primal at a lot of restaurants, you must be careful. I was not. This mama was tired. I don't always make the best choices when I'm exhausted.

It's hard when the weight isn't coming off as quickly as it was in the beginning. The scale no longer flashes those 3-5 lb. weight losses each week, and the novelty of the new lifestyle began to wear off. Knowing something is good for you doesn't make it easy. After working out and eating that salad while the people around you gnosh on pizza and burgers, you expect to see some numbers going down on that scale. When they don't, you begin to doubt the plan. Yourself. The purpose in skipping that double chocolate shake.

So you can see, life got hard and I got soft. I 'didn't have time' to eat healthy. I just 'couldn't' get to the gym because of the kids' events. I gained three pounds. I felt guilty. I was discouraged and depressed. I started to let it slip more and more, letting the nagging little voices in my head win. And then, I found this on Pinterest.

The truth of this smacked me right between the eyes. Yes, trying to change my lifestyle got hard. Planning and preparing seemed too difficult when I was tired. But what about being overweight?

It's hard when you know you can't even climb the stairs without sucking wind like a Hoover vacuum. Playing with your kids is not an option unless you're sitting your big butt in a chair and observing from a distance. Fun stuff.

It's hard having to pass by all the cute clothes in the fun stores on your way to the fat girl shops. Being in my thirties and having to dress like my grandma doesn't make me feel sexy.

It's hard to be a social person but dread being the fattest woman in the room so much you stay home to avoid the feelings of inadequacy. Seeing all the other women looking so put together and stylish, while I have two pairs of jeans that still button, kind of pokes a hole in my self-confidence. I isolate myself in self-defense.

It's hard to wonder if you'll fit into things like amusement park rides, airplane seats, and theater chairs. The embarrassment of having to step out of line or buy two tickets to accommodate your girth is enough to keep anyone behind the safety of their own door. Fortunately, I never reached this point, but it was on the horizon.

It's hard to feel so ugly and unlovable when you compare yourself to the pictures in magazines and women in movies. To hate what you've become and see the disappointment in your husband's eyes. How demoralizing to think he's with you because he loves you, and he's committed to you, but he's not attracted to you.

So you see, there is a choice here. I can jump back into the fray and fight like hell for the life I want or I can sit back and live in hell in the life I have. Neither is an easy way out. There's not a quick fix or an escape from the hard things. After several weeks of feeling ill and out of sorts, I made a choice. If it's going to be hard, I may as well go with the hard that pays off in the long run. I'm going with the hard that gets me somewhere better.

I'm back. I'm down 21 pounds, and I'm ready to keep going. Bring it.

Week 6, In The Books

Brian and I had a meeting yesterday.  He thinks it does miracles to my attitude and self-esteem to fix my hair and put my makeup on.  Even if I am not leaving the house!  (Which seems like a waste to me.)  That I feel better about life in general and subsequently, I'm much more tolerable when I'm feeling better.  He's not actually saying he prefers it for himself because I'm an ugly pill, but he prefers it because it obviously affects my daily living, and makes me a happier individual.  Very interesting point.  I gave it its due consideration.  

In response to that, I can say that I felt like I was on top of the world on Wednesday, thinking I looked good, and knowing that the weight was coming off.  I was making Progress.    

Friday, I got my hair trimmed and got my contacts, which I have not worn since before I had Lily, 8 years ago.  I had somewhere to go on Friday afternoon, and I came home, since I didn't have any makeup on, and put it on.  Even eye makeup, which I never wear.  Because it's too much trouble and I didn't think the effort was worth it since the artistry (ha!) would be hidden behind my glasses.  But with no glasses, there were no excuses.  Dang.  Did y'all know I have big brown eyes?  

This week, my weight loss total is 20 pounds.  I feel great!  About myself, that is.  I'm nowhere near where I want to be, but I'm on my way.  At 20 pounds gone, I'm one-fifth the way there.  Wow.  That was uncomfortable to write.  But it's true.  Five more pounds gone, that's a quarter.  And to me, it calls for celebration.  Although on the advice of my very good friend, I'm going to wait to buy shoes.  I do want my feet to shrink to a 10M, but it doesn't have to be right away and I find some fabooboo shoes, I want them to be around for the long haul.  So I'm gonna wait a bit.  I'm not worried.  When you love shoes like I do, there's nothing to worry about.  There will be another cute pair around the corner in no time.

One of my friends commented recently that she feels like a "bi-polar Christian."  Some weeks she's real up and feeling great and some weeks she's down and can't seem to recover.  I can certainly relate.  I can relate in that area, and I can relate in this area, especially.  This week, I'm in my manic phase.  Even with having a hamburger (with the bun) and fries at Five Guys and some fried jalapenos (with ranch) with my steak and baked sweet potato at the Hofbrau.  I'm still feeling great.  I feel like I can live with the "lifestyle" and that it's not a diet.  I am making this work.  And I'm seeing the results.

So yay for me.  

  

The Zen Art (and Insanity) of Weighing In

Georgia and I have been discussing this...ritual we go through with the scale each day. Equal parts science and crazy, we go through steps to make sure that scale remembers its job. Of course, if you remember Georgia's post, you know the only job of the scale is to Go Down. Sometimes it forgets this, resulting in meltdowns of epic proportions, especially when we have actually skipped the toasted sourdough bun on the burger and had salad instead of fries. Each of us go about the Weighing of the Bod in different ways, but both include lots of prayer and crossed fingers.

Georgia mentioned to me several weeks ago that when she wakes up, she's a bit swollen from being wrapped up in a cocoon of electric blankets and husband-created heat. Instead of jumping up and heading for the scale first thing, she waits until she's cold. I noticed that, since I share a bed with a human space heater as well, I was a bit puffy when I rolled out in the mornings. I also figured out that moving around a bit got my heart pumping and the blood flowing. Ah ha! New steps to add to the crazy ritual! Now it isn't unusual to see me doing squats or dancing around in front of the mirror while brushing my teeth.

I don't know about Georgia, but I don't want to know how much my clothes weigh. When I was a member of Weight Watchers, I had a "weigh in outfit". It consisted of the thinnest pair of yoga pants I could fit on my wide ass, a light weight t-shirt, and no shoes. Or jewelry. If it had been socially acceptable, I'd have gone without the bra, too. I'd step on the scale and exhale, as if the air in my lungs might add an extra ounce or two. While I am not measuring out food and counting points anymore, some habits die hard. And in the privacy of my own bathroom, I can step on that scale stripped down to nothing. Add that to the steps!

Finally, I want to make sure I'm only weighing me. I have to be as empty as possible. No eating or drinking before stepping on the scale. Restroom handled, breakfast postponed, I take my cold and active self to stand butt-naked on the scale. Lately, that piece of machinery has done what's expected, and Gone Down. This makes me very happy.

Now, before you decide to get all into the psychology of the crazy ritual, I should tell you that I KNOW it's insane. That all these little steps I take aren't really going to make me any thinner than I was when I woke up. I also know that the scale is not the true measurement of my success. These are the things I know in my head. My emotions, on the other hand, tell me otherwise. The difference in 0.2 and 0.6 pounds is huge to my stupid little mind. I want that scale to shoot fireworks and play music and drag out the parade for that extra two tenths of a pound. I'm always slightly offended when it doesn't.

So, each morning I wake up, take a shower, step out into the cold air and jump around a bit, dry my hair (wet hair weighs more), and step on the scale. It's nuts. But I do know a tiny bit about science. If you're conducting an experiment, you need to have a control situation. If I do everything the same exact way every day, the only thing that changes are those numbers on the scale. And my waistline. Which is the whole point.

Eight Pounds A Week

I gotta admit.  It's hard to share a blog with my sweet sister-in-law, whom I love like a real sister.  Because she's like a professional writer.  She feels this burning desire to write, has ideas floating around bursting forth and even has special software to help her plot stories and I....well, I write exactly how I talk and exactly how I think. I don't plan anything and I'm not that great with imagery and invoking feelings.  My stuff just doesn't seem to have the same appeal.  I realize we have different styles, and I don't know why I'm just feeling blah about it today, but there it is.  Maybe I'm more entertaining in person?  You know, when I actually tell the story and I'm being very dramatic?

Anyway.  

This week, I lost 1 pound.  Last week I lost one pound.  I want to lose 8 pounds a week.  This week, today, this task of losing weight is feeling so monumental.  I don't know that I can "work matters to completion" if it's going to be One Pound A Week.  I'm wearing my smaller clothes, but for some reason, I'm still looking in the mirror and seeing a Fat Frump.  I can't explain it.  Or maybe I can.  I can say that I have done ZERO working out in the last 2 weeks. I bet if I were more diligent about walking and Lifting Heavy Things, the weight would be coming off faster.  Maybe I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed.  Maybe I'd see someone working hard to get better instead of The Frump I saw this morning.  

I'm a sniveling mess today, frustrated with every stupid thing.  Everything feels hard.  I know I've been successful and for not working out, the pounds are still coming off.  But for some reason, I feel so disappointed in myself, like I'm somehow not getting it right.  Maybe I'm having to face my "big feelings" as we call them at my house, and since I don't have my cakes and hamburgers with the buns to soothe them, I'm just having to face them.  I wish I could understand how when I'm being successful, I still feel like a failure...  I go between wanting to be an absolute individual and making a mark to wanting to be lost in the shuffle, a part of the background, left alone.  

All that to say, another pound gone. 

                

January By the Numbers (And Some Other Stuff)

Over 2 years ago, my mom died.  And after living in "their" house alone for most of those 2 years, my dad moved 5 hours away to my town.  Then six weeks later, my brother died.  I became very glad my dad lives across the highway.  We are all that is left.  He is, by nature, a nurturer and really enjoys cooking.  In the last couple of weeks, we've had 2 pans of brownies, a banana cake (so good!) and a strawberry cake with vanilla icing.  We've also had spaghetti and three 5-pound bags of chicken leg quarters.  Today, a meat loaf.  It's making things a little....um, tricky, to eat well.

Then of course, we had Nasty.  I didn't eat any the first night.  But the whole next day, my "piece" was calling to me from its Tupperware box.  "Oh, Georgia....are you out there?  I thought I saw you pass by.  Say, did you know that there's a fabulous piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting out here in a box?  Remember...Brian said this box was for you.  It's full of chocolate cake.  You should eat me.  It's 80-20, right? I'm cake. And I'm goooood."

I mean, can you believe that cake?  Talking to me like that?  So rude.  But I'm kind of a follower.  So at some point in the afternoon, I fell for it.  And this is after I had already taken my measurements and knew how well I'd been doing.  So dumb.  I grabbed a big fork (not a dainty salad fork) and dug right in.  The frosting didn't taste so much like partially hydrogenated soybean oil.  It tasted chocolaty-ish.  And the cake itself was okay.  Kind of dry, really, if you ask me.  (Even though it had all the secret ingredients to make it great.)  It just didn't taste like I remembered chocolate cake and chocolate frosting tasting.  But do you think that stopped me?  Oh, please.  I ate about half the box which had about 2 reasonable sized pieces.  You can do this Sad Math.  Made myself a little queasy.  (And this was *after* I turned down some homemade brownies at a dinner on Sunday.  Thankfully, I had heard an ugly rumor that those brownies had maggots in them.)

But being queasy was nothing compared to the headache I got after gobbling up all that cake.  I got the migraine from hell.  It just got worse and worse and worse until I could barely see and even my teeth hurt.  It took 4 ibuprofen and 1 Benedryl to settle that baby down.  And the lesson in all this?  Don't eat cake, dummy.  It's not good for your brain and it's not even all that good.  Don't eat cake.  The end.

But as a whole endeavor, I'm doing pretty well.  I'm going to bed much earlier and getting up much earlier.  Except the day after I have a major migraine.  I've had few bread products.   I can't even think of one single bread product that I have had.  I tried parsnips as potatoes.  Too parsnippy.  I eat lots of nuts and meat and salads.  And it seems to be working.

Because in the month of January, I have lost:

• 16 pounds  
• one complete size
• 10 and one-quarter inches.  Three inches in one spot alone!  Seriously...I have lost 10.25" off my body for some skinny person to find.  I just love helping people.

Now.  To get back on track for the Fitness.  Must get motivated.  Time is ticking to lose another 2 sizes by the big 3-5.

And no more cake.  It is not good.  No matter what it says.

Week 3 in the Books

It was Sunday!  Three days ago.  (I was busy.  My man went out of town on Sunday and I had to go to the grocery store....and on and on.)  But without further delay, the Weight Board was officially updated and I have lost a total of 15 pounds!  This is not a rounded amount.  Yay!  I have put 15 pounds back into the world for some skinny person to have.  I am very giving, aren't I?  I just love to help people.

But honestly, that was not the best part of my week, although I was over the moon with my 15 pounds.  No, the best part was putting on a smaller pair of jeans.  And a smaller shirt.  I'm already running the logarithms so I can figure out what size I'll be when I hit the big 3-5.  That's about 3 months away...I bet I could be down 2 more sizes in 3 months, don't you?  (That would mean ALL new clothes!  Happy birthday to me!!!)

For those of you following my story, I have not eaten one Girl Scout cookie.  Not one.  I did stand out in about 30 degree weather and sell some, but I did not eat one.  Of course, as was documented, I did have a few bites of cake that made me sick, and a couple bites of a cake that my daddy made especially for me that did not make me sick.  The Primal Blueprint guru says that we should strive for 80%-20% compliance.  And I think having a few bites of a cake made especially for me falls well within those guidelines.  Especially since I have been able to avoid eating the whole cake, which I usually would do.

In other news, I have cooked breakfast for my children TWO days in a row.  Not the usual way I "cook" breakfast:  nuking oatmeal or pouring cereal.  I made bacon come alive and be crispy through the miracle of heat and I also scrambled eggs.  I am probably the only person who never learned how to scramble eggs in college and my daddy has fried my eggs anytime I ask for as long as I can remember.  But while Brian has been out of town, my children have been sent off to face the day with a primal breakfast in their belly.  That's good parenting right there. 

And my cooking piece de resistance...last night, I cooked my favorite comfort food, in a mostly primal way.  Roast beef cooked stovetop in my cast iron cauldron.  Oh. My. Word.  Can I say that I am an amazing roast cooker?  I had to fish the meat out of that pot with a slotted spoon.  My recipe is amazing.  I did deviate when I did the gravy because my dad was here so I did use a little flour.  A couple of tablespoons for the whole tub of gravy.  I did prepare parsnips as "potatoes", in the primal way.  Except I won't be doing that again.  They are stringy and taste like parsnips.  I'd rather just have some sweet potatoes occasionally and dress them the way Auntie Jo did:  butter, sour cream, scallions (when I say that I feel fancy!), and bacon. 

But tonight, for dinner, my kids are eating Girl Scout cookies that they  have purchased with their own money.  Some of you might think that I should Stop Them From Doing That!  But I'm not.  They have to learn that eating a box of cookies for a meal isn't the way to go.  And I'm willing to let them learn the hard way while the price is small.  I'd rather let the consequences do the teaching for me.  Better they learn this lesson at their current ages of 7, 6, 4 and 2 instead of at 35 like me.

Reality Check

Quick fact. Muscle weighs more than fat. It takes up less space, but it is considerably heavier. See the picture here? See how much smaller the muscle is, but it still weighs as much as the big old blob of ugly lookin' fat? What is that, anyway? It looks like corn on the cob, but it was prettier than the photographs of the real stuff. Ugh. Keeps me from ever wanting corn again. Anyway, the point is that I am struggling to get over the fact that my scale is NOT cooperating with me. It's been stuck at 8.4 pounds down for about 5 days now, and we were about to have a Come to Jesus meeting about it when I had this epiphany. Yes, I know this is not news. But if you're like me, you understand all this information just fine until it's your scale that doesn't agree with you after you've been working so hard. When it just doesn't get that the numbers need to be lower now. Then all our head knowledge flies out the window. Frustrated with this relationship, I began to search for other answers. CrossFit! "Satan" has been working me to the point of pure exhaustion for two weeks now. Those sore places I didn't know existed on my body? Bet that's muscle hidden under there! Who knew?

This is where the Measurement Fairy comes to tap me on the shoulder. "I'll show you what that mean ol' scale won't! Ditch him! You're too good to be tied to him anyway." Well hell, lady! Why didn't you say so! The tape measure and I have a date later. I'll have to let you know if it goes well. I hear it puts out. :)

Merrily We Roll Along

It's Sunday and you know what that means!  It's time to update The Weight Board!  Officially, I've been doing this thing for 2 weeks, and I have lost a grand total of 12.5 pounds.  I know the ticker says 13, but it rounds up.

I am not a fan.

I prefer an honest representation of my weight loss with no rounding.  It's seems like embellishing or cheating to me.  Which I am trying not to do.  In spite of a very large temptation looming inside my house:  It's Girl Scout Cookie Time!  What the samhill?!  And I have not one, but 2 girls selling cookies this year.  Clearly, I did not think this through.  It would probably be okay if I could eat just one.  Box.  But I can't.  I love those Peanut Butter Patties, especially after you put them in the freezer.  So. Good.  And it is not freakin' helping that my daughters are pooling their money together and buying (and eating) as many boxes as they can.  Leaving those cookies unattended in the refrigerator.  

"Hey, Mom?  Want a cookie?  Aren't these your favorite?  They've been in the freezer, just like you like 'em!"

Really, Little People?  It would be okay, just this once, to not share.  You don't even have to offer it to me.  Go ahead and give my share to Bubba.  He's just gonna take it right out of the package when you're not looking anyway.        

These stupid cookies are going to be my undoing.  I must keep in mind that I did not just lose 12.5 pounds by eating Girl Scout cookies by the boxload.  Wednesday I pushed Bubba in his stroller at the Nature Center, in the mud.  I am not fighting all this C-R-A-P to eat freakin' Girl Scout cookies.  I am not doing this so I can feel like a failure.  And I will, if I eat those damn things.  Today, it's not about the high heels or the zombies or being healthy.  It's these cookies.

For once in my life, THEY WILL NOT TELL ME HOW IT'S GOING TO BE.  

Do These Jeans Make My Butt Look Smaller?

Five am.  Time to assess whether it's okay to get on the scale or not.  There is criteria in place, you know, to determine this.  This is no willy-nilly operation.  Any person who has been a professional dieter like me, develops their own criteria to ensure the best possible results on the scale.  When I attended Weight Watcher meetings, I would have a weigh-in outfit that I wore every week.  It was a constant I could control when standing in line to climb onto a scale big enough to weigh a baby elephant.  Thankfully, my hot pants, tube top and Old Navy $2.99 electric blue flip flops were never the cause of a gain.  Just kidding.  I did gain once.  While we're talking about Weight Watchers, it annoys me that I still receive junk mail from them, but it annoys me even more that they're right.

But no matter what the scale says, or if they wear the pink or the green hot pants to the weigh-in, no one really believes they are shrinking until 1) Someone mentions how great they look....have they lost weight?;  or 2) Their clothes start fitting a little differently.      

When you begin this process of losing weight or getting healthy, and the numbers start going down, it's easy to get a little, hmmmm, what's the word?  Obsessive.  Yes, that'll do nicely.  Obsessed.  Hyper-focused.  Very enthusiastic, so to speak.  We're working hard and we want the scale to Recognize.  In my opinion, the scale has only one job to do:  Go Down.  That's all I'm really asking.  If it won't Go Down, my distant second choice of its workload:  Stay The Same.  Thankfully, we've had this scale for 9 years and it knows what's expected.    

Since it has been following orders and mostly Going Down, unofficially, I've lost 12 pounds. (I know because once my criteria is met, I weigh every single day.  Sometimes multiple times.  There is important scientific tracking going on here!)  In order to not seem so "obsessed", I only update my weight tote-board once per week, on Sunday.  It seems less rabid.   It helps that I've been watching what I eat.  So far, no yeasty goodness has passed my lips since January 1.  (Unless you count the one-half chocolate cupcake I shared, no frosting, with my husband that my dad brought over.)  I have limited my sugar intake to what is naturally contained in balsamic vinegar and other fine foods.  Oh, and the occasional bite of fruit.  I've cut out grains and have pretty much left Brian in charge of making the food.  I am not a foodie, but I absolutely appreciate those who are.  I even appreciate those who aren't if it means I don't have to cook.  Yea me, I also did not eat a Chex Mix rye chip that was very rudely calling my name at Girl Scouts yesterday.     

Most days I wear my cropped sweatpants and a t-shirt because I'm very messy around the house.  I'm forever getting something on my clothes while cooking, eating, or cleaning something, which actually happens quite rarely.  

But not today.  

First I had to weigh in and was thrilled to found the scale had Gone Down.  I stood in front of the mirror and looked from side to side, trying to determine if things were getting smaller.  I couldn't really tell.  Maybe my peach tattoo was a little higher than it used to be?  I measured my muscles.  They didn't look much bigger, but they felt stronger.  My unmentionables seemed to fit the same way they had been, so I just wasn't sure.  But I had agreed to meet a friend at Starbucks and so I had a large problem.  It was called, "What Should I Wear?"       

I got my other pair of jeans, the clean ones, and shimmied in.  They didn't really feel any looser.  Brian came to the scene to investigate.

"Turn around," he said.  "Those look like they might be a little looser in the butt."

What?!  Looser in the butt?  It must be working!  Eating meat like a T-Rex and pushing strollers with 40# kids through the mud at the Nature Center must be working!  I ran to the bedroom to find a shirt.  What would I wear to accentuate my smaller butt?  I grabbed a shirt that is "the perfect color for me", as I've been told and it has a square neck.  And I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with my clothes on, preening and peering, checking myself out.

"Look at this shirt," I said.  "It's hanging straight down.  It's not touching any lumps or bumps or anything.  And my jeans.  They're usually stretchy, but not this stretchy when I first put them on."  

"Yeah," my sweet husband said.  "It looks like your boobs are bigger than your stomach."    

Some women might get mad at a statement like that. Take it as some sort of criticism.  An attack, even.  But not me.  Not today, anyway.  Today, I'm taking progress any way it comes.