Hi, friends! I’m happy to be on day three of guest blogging for Jen, but I’m soooo jealous of her Mexican vacay.
I just found out that the pool at my apartment isn’t opening until at least July 1, rather than around Memorial Day like usual. I know it’s not QUITE warm enough yet, but enjoying the pool in June would have been nice. I wanna show off my new bod ;) Or at least just let it see the sun.
I weigh myself every morning. I wouldn’t say that I’m “obsessed” with the number on the scale, but it does affect me. How often do you weigh yourself? I don’t think every morning is too much. I know it’s just a number and I should rely on how I feel and how my clothes fit, but that thinking got me into trouble before. Five pounds turned into 10. Then 20. Then 30. Aaaand I was officially a fatty who didn’t even know how much she weighed because she didn’t own a scale. I’ve had a lot of people tell me that they don’t own a scale, but evidently that doesn’t work for me. Now I keep my scale in the middle of my kitchen floor.
(Say hey to my cat Norman! He loves having his picture taken.) My scale is in front of my refrigerator and the cabinets where I keep my food. I’m not sure that it keeps me from going into them and eating, but it does force me to think about what I’m doing. I used to be a mindless eater. If I was bored, I’d eat. If there was food lying out, I’d snack on it. The scale keeps me mindful of what I’m going into the kitchen to grab. It’s a constant reminder of how far I’ve come, and since I’ve lost more than 55 pounds, it’s nice to have a little reminder of how much I rock :)
Something else going on in my life: I’m the maid of honor in my best friend’s wedding in two weeks, and I will be the biggest bridesmaid. I really shouldn’t care because I look and feel great compared to a year ago, but I do care. I’m sick of being the fat friend, the biggest one in the picture, the friend of the hot girl at the bar, etc. I shouldn’t let those things get to me, but they do. It’s all a game: the numbers at the scale, the size on my jeans tag, comparing myself to my friends who are 30 or 35 pounds lighter than I am. I hate it, but that’s the way my brain works. What’s with the pity poor Amanda party? Being the biggest bridesmaid won’t be that big of a deal once the day gets going and all the excitement surrounds me. It’s not about me; it’s about the beautiful couple. I wish I didn’t care about my size, though.
OK. That’s enough with the Debbie Downer stuff. Tomorrow’s a new day!
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