DOES NOT COMPUTE

Blood labs results are posted where I can see them!!! CRUEL! 

Frustration = looking right at the numbers that could potentially reveal what is/isn’t wrong with me and not being able to read them!

I don’t speak “doctorese,” so I am doing what every frantic person does when they are handed a set of numbers that could determine the course of her future: Google.

Why. WHY. Make me STOP! Dear whoever-is-up-there-listening, I never thought I would ever ask for this but now would be a good time to cut off my internet or something!

In a brief moment of clarity and self control, I logged in to schedule an appointment to see Doc so he can talk me through these results, and WHAT?! No appointments available until DECEMBER?!?! NO! NO! WHY!! 

DYING.

MUST GO CRY.

DO NOT APPROACH WITHOUT CHOCOLATE. 

 

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Warning: This post contains chocolate.

Oh, and period stuff, so if you can’t handle those topics (or the combination of the two), scoot along.

I had a lovely little chat with my uterus the other day…

That is, if you can call “screaming, crying, and ranting at every visible star in the sky” lovely.

You’d think that by now, what with my history and my experiences regarding all things uterus-related, that I would have bothered to teach myself to stop getting my hopes up. But I can’t help it. I’m lame like that. 😦 

So when I say I am disappointed in my body for deciding to bleed again after a two-day “reprieve” last week, I mean it. Here I was, patting myself on the back, thinking that the lighter/shorter period was the payoff for losing a bit of weight. I deluded myself into thinking it was a sign that my body was finally getting its act together.

Wrong. 

It’s cycle day 26 (I guess? Or did it start over again when the bleeding came back? What does this mean?! ARGH!) AF is here in full force. She’s unpacked her hideous floral luggage and looks like she’s here for another wickedly long stay… and there just isn’t enough chocolate in the world to console me. Cue the hysterical “it’s all for nothing, my body will never work right no matter what I do so why should I even bother” meltdown that my poor, undeserving (and understandably unprepared) husband had to deal with…

But bless his heart, he baked.

I am serious.

I haven’t taken much time to talk about my husband (because I’m selfish and this is my spotlight, damnit! ;P) but mostly because this blog is new and you and I are still in that “getting to know each other” phase (which is why I keep breaking out the big guns: gross period talk and stuffed monkey mental breakdowns? Oh yeah, you’re totally impressed. Don’t lie.)

Anyway, my husband doesn’t bake. Aside from the occasional bowl of ramen noodles, he leaves the kitchen stuff to me. After a morning/afternoon spent meandering through an art and cultural food festival downtown, I decided to take a lazy little snooze. I thought I was dreaming when I woke up from said nap with a smiling husband presenting me with an ambrosial offering of chocolatey deliciousness a brownie! That sneaky little….!

Yes, I know, bad Manda. But come on, I was doing so well and all I got for it was a cancelled sex life and a pair of ruined undies… You get chocolate for that. It’s the deal. The fact that my husband gets this is just one of the reasons why I keep him around. 😀

I hope I actually have some interesting news to share soon, but in the meantime: remember that we don’t talk about the cheesecake. Or the brownies. And if any of you breathe a word of this to the nutritionist I am apparently going to see in about a week, I will have no choice but to be very, very disappointed in you. I will corner you in a dark alley somewhere. We’ll have a lovely little chat.

😉

throwchocolate

The Weight Loss Chronicles

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Before my husband and I were married, we never really gave fitness much thought.  A typical Saturday evening for us consisted of video games and (though I am ashamed to admit it) $5 carryout pizza. We drank sweet tea by the gallon. He was always a little too willing to let me give in to my sweet tooth and love of baking. “Eating healthy” was situated on our list of wants somewhere between “getting poked in the eye” and “wrestling a rabid puma.”

Oh, sure, we always planned on getting around to it eventually… but with school and work and everything in between, it was a little too easy to just say “we’ll do it someday.”

Since puberty, I have always been a bit thicker than the other girls my age, but there came a time when I was actually pretty damn proud of my curvy figure (*coughhighschoolcough*). Sure, I was heavy, but it was in all the right places: big hips, big booty, big (and I do mean big) boobs… But by the time Jonathan and I were ready to take our trip down the aisle, our craptastic “college kid” habits had added a “big belly” to it all, and I was horrified to realize that my size had ballooned from a full-figured (but healthy!) 12/14 to a 20/22.

Before our wedding, I did the typical “want to look my best!” routine and started doing the things I knew I was supposed to be doing all along: Water was my new best friend, we started eating more veggies, and I took up an exercise regimen. I was able to slim down a bit. By the time the BIG DAY came, I was strutting around in my laced-up corset wedding gown (tied extra super mega tight) like that church was a catwalk in disguise. I was a beautiful bride, I’m not going to lie. 😉

We were on the brink of enjoying what we considered a healthy lifestyle. We suddenly looked forward to planning and preparing wholesome meals. Desserts and sugary treats were saved for special occasions. Somewhere in all of this, we even bought a treadmill. GASP.

And yet, I never lost any real weight, and everything I did lose, I managed to find again rather quickly. :\ I just chalked it up to my body getting used to the changes. The important thing was that I felt like I was doing something about my weight besides bitching every time I had to squeeze into my one good pair of jeans, and that was going to have to be enough.

And then, my crazy-but-I-love-him husband decided to take on a career in the military.

When the countdown to his departure for basic training began, we had no choice but to accept our fate. It was now or never. Everything had to be taken up a few notches or there was no way he was going to survive the wrath of the drill sergeants (hah!). The grocery bill was dreaded almost as much as the rent payment, but something finally clicked and we stopped thinking of eating healthy as an expense, but instead as an investment. 

While he was away, I tried (in vain) to get back to my ideal size. I knew I was going to be proud of him when I saw him again, and I wanted him to be proud of me as well! I ran every morning, I swam every day (and not just for fun, though he seems to think that I enjoyed a nice little vacation while he was suffering. ;P), and I counted calories and kept track of how much I was burning.

Now, let it be known that I can’t math. But I can at least understand the basics of addition and subtraction.

The numbers looked right, but the scale refused to budge. It’s like my body was refusing to follow the VERY SIMPLE process of burning fat. To say that I was frustrated is an understatement of epic proportions. Our reunion came and went… I pretty much looked the same.

We’ve continued to do better together, and while he continues to build muscle and push himself with new physical challenges, I. am. still. struggling. We’ve cleaned up our diets even more (pushing for eating at least 90% clean, though right now we’re averaging a 70/30 ratio). I walk to the track that is half a mile from my front door and do a little running/jogging. I’ve even discovered that the gym isn’t all that bad.

I set little goals for myself. I would like to lose 2 pounds a week. I don’t think that’s asking too much of my body, is it? Well…

Total weight loss since the beginning of June:

12 pounds.

Although, if you want to add all of the weight I have to keep re-losing (is that even a word? It is now) it’s almost twice that. Up and down. Up and down.

Frustration = hell.

The only victory I can celebrate here is that this is the longest I’ve ever been able to keep any weight off. I’m going to credit that with cutting out as much processed foods as possible.

And that brings us to today. And my current “I really hate my body” mood. Nothing works the way science says it should. It makes me feel overwhelmed, helpless, and understandably unhappy.

My husband is in the best shape of his life. Why does he have to be stuck with a fat wife? ESPECIALLY a fat wife who can’t even give him babies? How long before he runs off with a cute little 19-year-old with a firm ass and perfect 28-day cycles? :\ <——-Do you see these evil thoughts? They’re not welcome here. I know he loves me. He married my pudgy butt and his only complaint about my body is that complain about it way too much…

Anyway, I wanted to share my history of weight loss (or weight loss attempts, I should say) because as time goes by, I will probably share my ups and downs here. Focusing on getting healthier has as much to do with the baby journey as the doctors and the tests and the pee sticks, right? Not only will I feel better, I’ll hopefully get a handle on the crazy, unreliable cycles (day 19 and still bleeding, btw) and even increase my chances of ovulating normally. That will obviously be a step in the right direction.

And when (when, not if) there’s a new addition to our little family, I’ll know that I am physically and mentally healthy enough to give my baby the strong mommy it deserves!

I might be having trouble losing weight, but it is NOT from a lack of motivation. I have the best reasons in the world to do this. Body, get with the program!!