Proud Donna

 I started this post three weeks ago.  It has taken me this long to get past the first half sentence.  Here we go…

Someone asked me the other day what I thought my parents would say about my weight loss so far.  Others have said, “Your parents would be so proud of you!”  Here’s the thing.  I do not think I would have had surgery if my parents were still living.  

I mentioned earlier that I had a close relationship with my mom; perhaps, at times, codependent.  Mom had bypass surgery about 30 years ago, when it was fairly new.  It was a disaster for her, including the surgeon leaving a sop cloth in her cavity before closing up after surgery.  The cloth was found years later after she repeatedly complained about feeling like “something was catching” whenever she ate.  As I was saying, mom had surgery and lost about 50 pounds.  For this to be the last resort after Weight Watchers, Medical Weight Loss, water aerobics, slimfast, cabbage soup diet, lemon water diet, hcg, phentermine and so many others, she was not happy with those results.  My sisters started losing after trying hcg and exercise.  I used myself as a measure to let mom know that she was still beautiful by comparing her number to mine.  “Mom, you are 240 pounds? I am 320!”

Somewhere along the way, I realized that each time I started losing weight, I would sabotage my efforts.  Year after year of losing the same handful of pounds, I’d turn around and put it back on, with interest.  I did not want to weigh less than my mom.  I did not want her to feel bad for being the heaviest in our family.  So, I kept adding on the weight.  To this day, mom had no idea that this was my pattern.  How fucked up is that?  Where, in my mind, did I think it would make my mom feel any way but excited and proud for me to weigh less than she did?  

Where did that come from?  This is why it took a long time for me to consider bariatric surgery.  Not only did I remember the trauma that mom endured from surgery and the lack of results, but I also was afraid it would not work and afraid that I would weigh less than she did.  

Maybe it’s like what I hear about people who live longer than one parent did.  Once they reach that number, they are aware that they are surpassing the master.  Mom was no less than 200 pounds.  How will I feel when I hit 199?  Will I be inclined to sabotage?  Will I feel some sort of way?  We shall see.  Right now, I am 232.  It has been nearly 20 years since I was this weight.  I was in an unhappy relationship that contributed to my weight shooting up to 260, 280 and beyond.  Now that I am happy in my marriage, my career, and my skin, what will be the result? Whatever the result, I will rest knowing that I am proud of my progress, hard work and life-adjustment.  I will know in my heart that my parents are ever so proud as they were when I was almost 340 pounds, as they were when I was 7 pounds, as they always have and always will be. 

Lady Lumps

 What is it about getting what you want that makes you want a thing you had never considered before you got what you had wanted?  Stay with me here.  Have you ever decided to pain a room in your house.  Just the one room would brighten up the whole space.  So you go and look at all of the tiny color squares, steal a bunch of the books that you know you will never use for anything……. Purchase one tiny sample of the color you want and go home tgo slap it on the wall.  You then go back and order a full can of that color, along with more blue tape because you have no idea where the other rolls that you bought in bulk are stored.  You pain that one room and sit back to marvel at your accomplishment.  Just then, your eye catches something to the right of the wall that has just started drying.  Crap!  The new coat of paint in this room makes the next room look dark and dingy.  You had no plans to pain the whole house, but alas, that’s what’s about to happen.

I never thought I would ever ever consider a “boob job.”  My lady lumps have been a part of my life since high school and I had no intention of messing with them as long as they didn’t mess with me.   Here I am, catching something out of the corner of my eye and wondering if I might embark on a journey i had not previously considered.  AFter nursing two children for a total of three years and now, after losing 80 pounds in six months, my breasts look worn for the wear.  I never had perky breasts that stood up and said HI!  I had full heavy breasts that swayed with each step and said heeeyyyyyyy.  

It’s not even that I dislike the look of them.  They are just deflated and don’t fill my cups like I'm used to.  So, what to do?  Plan another surgery that would lift and tuck and boost my confidence more while offering me breasts with the appropriate level of perkiness for a 47 year old?  Do I find them as the new thing to question, dislike and groan about?  I had no intention of getting a boob job.  And now, I have every intention of doing just that before my 50th birthday.

Putting On the Brakes

 Our car needed some work today, so after I walked the kids to school, I drove the car a mile from home and dropped it off.  They offered me a ride from the  shuttle, but I told them I would walk.  HOLD UP THERE.  WHAT?  Yes, I did.  I walked/jogged home and logged 4,000 steps before 9:00am.  

Not having the use of a car presents some interesting challenges.  I needed to meet someone at a local restaurant and decided I could walk there.  First, I had to walk to the YMCA, about a mile away.  I dropped off the forms and proceeded to my lunch destination; only to find that it was not open on Mondays.  I waited for the other party to show realizing that I did not have a car and that we would need to dine somewhere locally.  We found a place nearby and enjoyed our lunch meeting.  

Later,  I needed to walk to the Y again to present more forms (I’m trying to apply for after-school care for my kiddos).  Another mile.  And then I walked back home and started dinner.  The car was still up in the air getting her breaks replaced.  I walked to the kid’s school to retrieve them and received  notification that the car was ready for pick up.  They sent that shuttle to pick us up!  I came home and took a hot epsom salt bath.  After 14,732 steps in 90 degree heat, I’m done.  I will be asleep by 7:00!  

I’m so friggen proud of myself for taking each of those steps.  One year ago, I would not have been able to do that.  This year, I did it and then some!  Yay me!

by the way... I was in bed at 6:30, slept until 6:00am, and spent the following three days recovering from those 14,000+ steps. You know you're almost 50 when you have to recover from a kick-ass day of working out well!

Good Night

 My goal is to take 10,000 steps every day.  Until recently, I could count on one hand how many times I reached that goal.  This week, I reached it twice.  One day, I looked at my fitbit and saw that I had 8652 steps in so far.  It was only 6:00 pm, so I got to moving again.  My husband and I were watching a movie when I noticed my watch.  I jumped up and started waking in place.  I tried jogging, but I did not have the support system under my pjs to allow that madness to happen.  I walked from the bathroom and around the bed, checking my watch every few steps to make sure each and every one was registering!  After a while, I gave up and climbed back in bed.  9520.  WHAT?!  I’ve got to do this!  

I walked downstairs and started taking laps from the steps, through the kitchen, through the living room and around and around.  My daughter, who was washing dishes, stared at me.  “Mom, WHAT are you doing?!”  I said, “I’m almost at my step goal and I want to reach 10,000!”  I climbed the stairs, which should count for a few steps each, in my opinion, and returned to my room.  9890.  

Come on, Jenn!  You’ve got this.  I moved, jumped (ouch) and pumped my arms as I walked around the bed.  Finally, I felt the glorious buzz on my wrist.  I had reached 10,000 steps!  I took another shower and went back to bed.