Dating Your Weight

I have been stalling writing this blog for fear that I was being punked, but alas, I am BELOW 300 pounds! Sitting at 298 and happy as a clam.

The fact that I am so excited about being 298 really got me thinking. I came to the conclusion that my years of: yo-yo dieting, tears at the scale, starvation, all cigarette diet, binge eating, stretch marks, etc are very similar to my dating years. I mean, isn't your weight nothing more than a relationship? Think about it, you never get it right the first time, you appreciate every lost pound when you finally do it right, you do some very bad things in the beginning...Doesn't that sound about right? I mean, my all cigarette diet can be compared to the guy I dated in college who pretended I wasn't his girlfriend,
right?

I mean, let's be real, I wouldn't be excited about 298 pounds if this was my first go-round with weight loss. I remember when I lost 75 pounds in college and all I could think about was the next goal. I never appreciated where I was and how much work it took to get there. It was a disgusting, cancerous obsession that racked my mind day-in and day-out. My best friend lost 100 pounds last year eating in a way that she has since changed. However, when she was in the middle of this weight loss battle it was nearly impossible to talk to her. You could see her eyes racing like a caged beast eyeing the cupboards. She literally got up mid-conversation and ran three miles out of pure guilt and then felt guilty because she didn't run six miles. Doesn't that sound like that guy that you sat around waiting for him to call you? You missed out on endless fun nights with the girls or even just mental stability because all you could think about was if and when he would finally call.

Woof. What a realization.

Now, I can HONESTLY say I feel like a switch clicked in my head. I am not obsessed about what my next meal is going to be and when. I am not crying because I went up in weight instead of down. Yes, I am celebrating my wins but I know I'm not perfect. Just like I appreciate the amazing man I married. The same man who told me how skinny my face looked yesterday. I wouldn't have known how lucky I was to be at 298 or how lucky I am to have my husband 10 years ago. Now, I wouldn't trade him or this weight-win for the world.

Pre-Pregnancy Weight!!!

301!!! God save the Queen!!!!! I am back to where I started!!! And it only took me a month!!!

(Thank God for breastfeeding).

I teetered on 302 for a couple days waiting patiently and weighing myself every time I went to the bathroom to see if that last pound was shaken loose and I AM FREE AT LAST! For some reason, this seems wayyyy more of an accomplishment than last time. Maybe because this time I gained 5 more pounds than my last pregnancy and the weight seemed to come off more quickly. But, that's what getting old does to you!!!

I have been thinking about starting a running routine. I believe I mentioned this multiple times before to both you and anyone else who will listen and haven't so much as gone for a walk. But, it's the thought that counts, right? But, no, I am just stalling because I am still healing from my c-section and I know it's going to be horrifyingly difficult and I don't need to add my incision ripping open and my kidneys falling out in front of someone's mailbox.

I have been Pinning all sorts of running inspiration since I joined Pinterest so I should be well prepared on a routine and do's and don'ts but it's all about pulling the trigger, I suppose!

Ashley, Food and God

I just finished reading the book Women, Food and God. I say "finished" because I started reading it


Buy this immediately.

four years ago (back when I was single and living along) and had to put it away because every time I read a paragraph I ended up sobbing hysterically into a pillow. That is how many aha moments are in there. Honestly, I don't care if you weight 100 pounds; that book will change your life.

The biggest takeaway I got from the book this time is: I don't have to count calories, starve myself, only eat kale for 30 days, etc in order to "succeed" in dieting. Really, all I need to do is eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full. I wish I could have raked in the bucks that author Geneen Roth did by stating such an obvious feat. It's much easier said than done though.

Roth also talks about eating what your body is asking for. Yes, if your body is dying for a hot fudge sundae, eat it. But your body is not dying for 12 sundaes 30 days in a row. It's funny, I have been going by this mentality for the past few days and the amount of food I eat is probably cut in half and the quality is probably doubled. I had eggs and oatmeal for dinner last night. No cheese on my eggs either. I have never eaten eggs without cheese. But, I asked myself, "Do you really want the cheese?" And it didn't sound all that great. The eggs however, were calling my name.

With this newfound confidence, the impending holidays don't make me want to pop a Xanax and hide in my bed. I can have Thanksgiving dinner without following it up with a suicide note. I don't have to eat until I look like a stuffed turkey and I can just eat the things I really want. Do I really want cranberry sauce? Nah. Do I really want 16 pieces of pumpkin pie? No. Do I want turkey, potatoes and stuffing? Yes, but I think I have the ability to eat less than epic proportions.

Also, I have been eating so much salad it's unreal. I have always loved salads, but always felt I was missing out on something if I ate them. How seriously messed up is my brain? I WANT a salad. I hardly ever WANT Burger King but always choose it because I think that's the exciting part about life...eating deep-fried everything. Good God, I need therapy.

Fat Girls

I have had a problem with fat girls all my life. Not that I hate them for being fat. Not at all. But, I hate

If anyone ever buys me this shirt I will commit murder.

them for always thinking because I am chubby, that makes us confidantes. I can't tell you how many times I met a fellow chunkster and within the first couple meetings she bashes some skinny girl and says something like, "Us big girls need to stick together, amirite?"

Burn?

I mean, why do we need to bring up the fact that I am fat? I don't think the fact that we are both overweight means we are buddies. Or did I miss something? All that is accomplished by saying something like that is me feeling completely unflattering and disliking you for pointing out that it is mega obvious how fat I am. I like to live in a beautiful state of denial sometimes.

In my experience, any mention or back-handed compliment referring to my weight has been stored in a mental filing cabinet to scar me for the rest of my life.

For instance: my mother is a beautiful woman. To put it in perspective, she was voted Ms. Centerfold in high school. So, that's a lot to live up to. But, I remember getting dressed for my 6th grade Christmas concert in front of her and her making mention that I get my "poochy belly" from her. Up until that point, I had not really considered my belly that "poochy." Now, 15 years later that's all I think about when I look in the mirror and the first thing I want to fix if I ever go under the knife.

People just don't understand that you should never make mention to a woman about her weight even if you are as vague as possible. Another example: my darling Grandmother. My whole life every time I see her she either mentions that I look like I have lost weight or she doesn't. The fact that she says I look good makes me feel wonderful. But, when I don't hear it, that's the equivalent of oinking at me upon entrance in my book.

So please, even if your intentions are meant to make me feel like you and I have something in common, please do not. I don't need the constant reminder that I am overweight. I am very much aware.

Post Baby Body

I have been de-babied.

I gave birth to a beautiful little girl. Looks like her dad. Such a magical moment. But, this is a weight-loss blog, not a here's-how-much-I-love-my-kids blog. So, I will cut to the chase...

The whole four days I was in the hospital I could not wait to get home to my scale. I couldn't wait to see the numbers soar downward after 7 lbs 4 oz of baby meat and 9 months worth of baby juices left my body. I know this doesn't count as "real" weight loss, but the fact that I was all the way up to my heaviest at 322 pounds, I was praying for a miracle.

So, before I even got Little Girl out of her carseat, I was on the scale. And, wouldn't I be the only person in the history of the world who has a 7 pound baby and only loses THREE POUNDS??!!!

What a sick joke.

Photo Courtesy: scarymommy.com

Of course I burst into tears immediately while looking at my bruised, stitched, sagging post-baby body. I also kept having visions of Kim Kardashians white bikini-clad post-baby body about a minute after giving birth and felt even more like a sack of human Silly Putty.

I have never felt more homicidal in my life.

But, to my absolute shock, the pounds have been dropping at an amazing pace. I am two weeks post-partum and down to 305. I never thought I would be so happy with such a disgusting number, but it is much prettier than 322. I know breast-feeding is a mega calorie burner, so I might just keep pumping until menopause to keep myself in check...

The Return of Chubbylicious

Well, no, I did not die after trying on bridesmaid dresses. However, about five seconds after writing
the previous blog in February, I found out I was pregnant. SO, not only did I get to be the token fat bridesmaid, I got to wear TWO hats and double as the pregnant bridesmaid as well. Honestly though, it's not that depressing being pregnant and fat. You can just blame your vericose veins, bevvy of stretchmarks, disgusting desire to eat every five minutes and guarding your dinner plate like a convict on that precious little baby.

But, why did I disappear? Well, after getting over the fact that I have to gain weight to support this little fetus and laughing at God maniacally for a week and a half, I decided I didn't want to blast how much I hated gaining weight all over the internets and give my daughter (yes, a GIRL) a jumpstart on impending weight issues. Lord knows, with my genes, she is going to come out embarassed of her size newborn diapers.

Needless to say, the past nine months have been a orgy of preservatives, carbohydrates, artificial sweeteners, high fructose corn syrup and a lot of other three dollar words for being an utter sow.

I have less than a month to go in this pregnancy and just wanted to let everyone know, as soon as my nether regions are stitched back together and I stop sobbing while looking at my wrinkly, deflated, rippled, sack of flesh I call my stomach, I am back in action. No holds barred.

Stay tuned.

Here Comes the Fattie

*Rocking out at right around 301 pounds still. I can seriously taste 299. If I cut off a foot, would that still count as weight loss?*

Anyway, my best friend is getting married. I am the maid of honor. The wedding is in October. Thus, dress shopping starts in two weeks. I really highly doubt I can lose 100 pounds in two weeks. Therefore, I have to go through the excruciating task of trying on dresses.

Oh, the horror...

At least I can thank my lucky stars that this isn't the '80s. I would look like a side of beef in these dresses.

Not only is every dressing room experience a fat girl's arch nemesis, but most bridal shops only carry bridesmaid dresses in size six and twelve. I wasn't even a size twelve in the seventh grade. So, I get to go through that awkward moment of standing around a gaggle of skinny ladies prancing around in adorableness and will all know, without saying, that I am too fat to try any on.

Is morning drinking OK during these events?

However, I will be thrilled to see my beautiful friend trying on dresses. She, unlike me, is a tall, thing dark-haired beauty who will be like my own life-sized Barbie doll. Just to be there for that experience will hopefully numb the pain of being the token fat girl who needs her dress made at the hot air balloon factory.

The Small Victories

(Back at a nice, plump 301. Please, God don't let that number rise...again.)

Since I have well over 100 pounds to lose, sometimes it can feel like quite the load to bear (literally). There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Every pound feels like a teardrop out of a swimming pool. Negativity and I are star-cross lovers; we go hand-in-hand at every turn of the page.

So, on that positively depressing note, I thought I would take some time while I am a mere 24 pounds lighter to celebrate some of the positive changes that have developed in this new endeavor:

1. Those that follow me on Facebook (shameless segue into mentioning you can follow me by clicking the link at the top of the page) may have seen that I turned down a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a chocolate shake from my mother this morning. She dangled that deliciously dangerous carrot in front of my face and I told her to "shut the hell up and go eat an apple." That felt fucking unbelievable.

2. I went down a pant-size. Now, size 22 might not sound like I'm hitting the runway anytime now, but I haven't been down that far since motherhood. I even flirted with the idea of trying on skinny jeans. I respectfully declined myself that libation quite yet...all in due time.

3. Fruit is my new dessert. In another life, I would have kept candy bars and num-nums hidden in my cupboards and blow my last 12 points of the day on sugar. Now, I eat healthy food with my points and enjoy a couple oranges with TV time. I feel like a celebrity eating so posh-like.

4. I fit in my maybe-someday-these-will-button-again pants. Still got a couple pounds to go until my muffin top isn't so outrageous, though.

5. I have the desire to exercise. Now, note I said desire. I am not, in fact, exercising quite yet, but the thought has crossed my mind. I have even Googled running shoes and researched if Under Armor came in my size (it does not). However, I have never, ever, EVER had the desire to exercise. Yes, five years ago I forced myself to get a YMCA membership. But, half the time I would get there and ride the bike haphazardly for five minutes before rewarding myself with a Whopper. All in due time, all in due time.

So, yeah, five "happy points" of eating healthy. Granted, I could much easier and more quickly ramble off the negative side of this new life change, but, I am not going to do that. Even though I really miss self-medicating with carbs, I will just let the positivity flow...for now.

McDamnit

Back down to 304. Still not feeling quite normal after the flu. However, of course I am feeling perfectly good enough to visit the Golden Arches. I have an addiction. I honestly believe McDonald's is worse than heroine. I mean, with heroine you have to mess with needles, dealers and the impending foreclosure of your home. With McDonald's you can eat sweet, greasy happiness for $.99. I mean, what can you buy at the grocery store for less than a dollar? Ramen? I will take a nice, mayo-infused McChicken instead, please.

Now, how do I break this hideous habit? I literally have a McDonald's a stone's throw from my office. When I sit and eat my hard-boiled eggs on lunch I stare at the parade going through the drive-thru and wish I was just OK with being morbidly obese. Who the hell needs to get out of bed? I can just snuggle up to sausage McMuffin wrappers with a grease mustache and be content.

Ugh. Now I want a chicken nugget.

Killin' It

You know those times when you kind of want to choke someone until you see the life flutter from their bodies? No? Well that's how I feel about my weight right now. I want to slit its throat Dexter-style and drop it at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Why you might ask?

I gained 7 lbs.

No, I didn't have a breakdown and rob a bakery; no, I didn't stuff chicken wings down my gullet; I didn't even use my extra points for the week! It was that fucking flu. The mere fact of me not eating for ONE day send my body into such extreme shock that it won't let an ounce of any morsel that touches my lips leave my hips. I mean, really, it wasn't even a full day of not eating. That is how much of a fat kid I am.

However, I am going to (begrudgingly) keep on truckin' and hope my body finally feels safe enough to let its claws loose on the toast I ate last week.

Good lord, I need therapy.

I Just Want to be a Stripper

I have always wanted to be a back-up dancer in a music video.

Now, I'm not talking one of those really talented In Living Color-type dancers. I'm talking the girl in the red bikini writhing around on the hood of a Lamborghini while rappers throw money on her. I want to not have to have a "great personality" but be nothing more than a set of knockers and legs.

Never in my life have I been able to just get anything by being "hot." Let alone earn a living by just flopping around on the hood of a car. Now, before you feminists come picket my front lawn, I do know there is nothing more important than an education and personality and blah, blah, blah. But, damnit, sometimes I just want people to throw money for my great body!

Basically, skinny girls take one thing for granted. Fat girls spend their whole lives building a great personality and intelligence to pay their bills. However, skinny girls always have that safety net of knowing "if this all falls through, I can always strip." No, that doesn't seem like the most glamorous safety net, but it is one still. Sure, fat girls can do stuff like that but it's more like sitting on birthday cakes for some weird substitute teacher on a webcam once a week.

I will dare to say it, though. Sometimes, I just want to be a stripper. Sometimes I just want to go to a job where people throw money at me to just stand there. My mind doesn't matter. I am, literally, just a hot zombie that makes hundreds of dollars a night. Then, I would go home and spend all day writing in my robe drinking coffee that wasn't from a  bargain bin and become a famous writer. Wait, what was that? I can barely see you through my rose-colored glasses.

I came to this great epiphany while watching Survivor, tonight. These pretty little things in their fluorescent string bikinis turn men to putty. I have seen a hot woman win this show twice by doing nothing more than flirting her way to the top. The saddest part is, the second time through all those men knew she won by flirting the first time but were unable to fall into her sexy little snare.

Bottom line is: if you're skinny know that you always have that stripper pole as a backup plan.

Yo-Yo Dieting

I was on Pinterest today and discovered this photo:

This is very inspirational to me. Mostly, because my knee-jerk reaction to any emotion other than the mundane is to stuff my face. But, my whole entire life, all I can remember is wishing I was thin. I always imagined waking up one morning and looking like Kate Winslet (it was the Titanic years). I would just wake up and slip into size four jeans and saunter down the hallway of my childhood home and life would be perfect. Well, suffice to say, that never happened.

So, I am sitting here and thinking about all the women before me who have wished thinness upon themselves. I mean, Oprah has more money than God and she hasn't been the same size for more than a year. She could literally pay someone to spoon-feed her the most succulent delicacies in the universe and she is still overweight. For crying out loud, every morsel of food that touches her lips is splashed across the front page of nearly every magazine in the country and she still struggles. 

I am having an epiphany...

This is who I am. This is my cross to bear. I will always struggle. I will always have to talk myself out of the drive-thru at McDonald's. I will always want to eat until explosion when I cry. I will always want to celebrate with cheesecake and all-you-can-eat buffets. 

But is this the worst thing in the world? There are people out there who spend their children's savings at a casino. There are people right now in this very town doing hardcore drugs that are zapping their brain cells out by the millions. There are people who are addicted to coffee enemas and licking their cats' asses (trust me, my mom saw it on TV). All I have to do is stop eating so much. Good Lord, I got this.

Miracle Diet

Come on, flu, just two more pounds to go!

Weighing in at 301 lbs today.

You read that right...seven pounds less in two days. Now, I can hear your pleas already for the answer on what type of witch doctery I am practicing over here to drop that much that fast. No, I didn't run the Boston Marathon. No, I didn't have overnight lipo. No, I didn't weight myself leaning against the sink to appear thinner.

Nope...I got the flu.

As much as I "love" writhing in the bathroom floor in the fetal position awaiting my body to evacuate the last dribble of nutrients it scrounged from some corner of my intestines...it actually was quite nice to see the scale drop so dramatically overnight. However, I was not the only one who was taken down by this nasty bug. My 9 month old son and husband were the first men down. I was skittering about all weekend among exploded diapers and puke buckets trying to keep everyone from dying. Two days in, I was hit. And being the true fatty that I am, I still managed to eat four pieces of toast yesterday. To my benefit, that was all I ate yesterday and felt somewhat less cathartic afterward; however, I find it quite discerning that while the entire house smells like a lower intestine, and the mere chore of blinking seems to laborious, I still manage to waddle myself into the kitchen to whip something up. I mean, I made it until the early afternoon without a meal, I am not living in a concentration camp.

My biggest worry, however, is since I haven't eaten (really) in a day, I am going to eat a normal days worth of points and wake up tomorrow 20 pounds heavier from my body packing each calorie to that lower belly bulge that will just never die. The thought of exercising makes me want to jump in front of oncoming traffic, so that's not an option. So, I guess I will just sit here with fingers and toes crossed that my flu weight stays off.

Food Porn

Stop smiling and start bakin', blondie!

I have noticed that women have a dirty little secret. Something they only share with other girlfriends. Something their husbands would be mortified to learn about. Something they lay awake at night dreaming about.

Food porn.

Now, I'm not talking about American Pie style nastiness. I'm talking about that dirty little page called "Pinterest." I mean, you should all really be ashamed of yourselves. Page after page of chocolate dripping, burgers sizzling, cream cheese shimmering...and you post and post them. There they sit, right next to your list of workouts and inspirational weight loss quotes. They sit there like a dingy pin-up in a 16 year-old's locker. Women fantasize about food on a daily basis. I guarantee 90% of the fattening recipes on every woman's Pinterest page have never been made. But, we just love seeing how one can concoct "Better Than Sex Brownies/Cheesecake/Cookies/Pie."

Yes, we name things "Better Than Sex."

I mean really, ladies. How many times have you been sitting there drinking your eighth bottle of water of the day, snacking on a low-fat string cheese for hours wishing it was a funnel cake dipped in milk chocolate, wrapped in bacon and served by Fabio? I betcha a helluva lot more than you're fantasizing about actual sex.

Have you heard a man say, "This football game is better than sex." Or, "Let's go to the better-than-sex bar tonight." Nope. This is women's naughty little secret. Women want you to spend $100 on a box of chocolates she can hide in the cupboard above the fridge so she can sneak one or twelve every night when everyone is asleep. No one can know we love food more than life itself. Nobody except our fellow Pinteresters.

Weight Watchers Easy Veggie Dip

One single serving of plain Greek Yogurt

Season with a packet of ranch seasoning to taste

 Only 3 points for the whole container and oodles of veggies!

(Stole this from a friend. Thanks, Ang!)

Easy Peasy

Weighing in this week at a nice 308 lbs. I say "nice" with no sarcasm, surprisingly. No, I don't think I am ready for the cover of Sports Illustrated quite yet. However, being the queen of yo-yo dieting, I know it can always get worse. I remember thinking if I ever weighed 250 pounds, I would run my head over with an 18 wheeler. Now, if I weighed 250 pounds, I would walk the streets in the nude.

Now, after you've collected yourself after that lovely visual, I will tell you the problem I am having and always have the first two-three months of starting Weight Watchers:

It seems SOOOO easy.

I can remember distinctly sitting with my best friend (and fellow WWer), Cassandra a couple of years ago sitting at Cousin's Subs with our veggie subs and bottles of water and talking about how foolish we ever were to think losing weight was hard. I mean, the weight was literally melting off and we weren't starving! What the hell was Oprah pissing and moaning about, we were ruling the diet kingdom!

Then you hit the three-month hump. That's when you start really feeling good about yourself. So good, in fact, that you let yourself slide a little. Whether it's Christmas, a birthday party, Friday the 13th, whatever, you'll find a reason. You let yourself stop counting every morsel you sniff. You taste freedom and boy, oh boy, does it taste sweet.

Then, you convince yourself you are cured. Your "fat mentality" has just flitted away and you can live just like everyone else. You can just eat until you're full and the weight will just keep on dropping off.

WRONG.

I have made this mistake so many times, I kind of feel like I need a straight-jacket. That's why I am not quite ready to celebrate my recent convictions. It feels so easy, routing and rewarding. I am just waiting for the other wide-calf shoe to drop.

But, maybe my hesitation is healthy? Maybe it's good to have lived and learned and know that it's going to get fucking tough. I am going to want to sit and watch Sex and the City marathons with an apple pie and a Big Mac. I am going to want to "just celebrate" and make it rain calories. But, deep down in the back of my mind is 325 pound me screaming, "For the love of GOD step away from the buffet!"

The Fat (Little) Blogger that Could

A mom writing a blog about losing weight and trying to be cheeky? Come ON now.

'Tis true, I am definitely not going to be paving any trails with this blog. But, it just might be enough to hold myself in check long enough to avoid McDonald's drive-thru for the sixth...or seventh time this week. That being said, I am not going to try and paint with a wide brush and talk about myself like a chunky, yet adorable Bridget Jones. Regardless, this isn't going to be a blog where obese women come to cut themselves.

I'm going to go for right in the middle...

So, what better place to start than the beginning? 

Oh, child, you will never believe how many Spanx you will own one day

Every woman remembers that first instant she thought she was fat. That millisecond where she became convinced the world is disgusted with her. "Why is she wearing that? Doesn't she have a mirror at home? Doesn't she know we can see her cellulite? Do you think she knows she's fat? Why does she even leave her house? Do you think she is crane lifted out of bed to get to work in the morning?" Hey, we have all been there. Women are constantly worried they will be the fattest in any situation. No one wants to go out to the bars when they're single with a bunch of Victoria's Secret models. I did my time as single lady going out with skinny friends and 99.9% of the time it ended up with me sitting on a curb with mascara and snot smeared across my blotchy, drunken face while I called my little brother and told him he is the only man who would ever love me. Gosh, I am glad I am married now. Not as glad that my brother told this same story during his speech at said wedding.

But anyway, back to the moment my inner fatty kicked in...

I was about six years old. Yes, six. My dad had stuck my butt in a bucket and was lifting me up and laughing at the situation. The whole time I remember thinking gosh, how strong is my dad. He must finally be realizing how his genes have mutated into a human blob. How can he keep holding me up? What do I weigh, 40, 50 pounds? Is he Hercules? Look at everyone stare at how fat my butt is to be stuck in a bucket...

Now, I would be glad if I sat on a bucket and didn't feel like it was going to explode into enough confetti for the Macy's Day Parade.

But, Six years old?

How does this happen?

Mind you, I still have a picture of this Easter that my inner fatty personified. I would have been lucky if I had a pinch of fat on my knobby-kneed little body, yet, I was convinced I was enormous.

From that point on, it was like this symptom of well, they think I'm fat now, I will REALLY show them how fat I am. I was a tiny self-fulfilling prophecy. There was no stopping me. I remember hiding boxes of Girl Scout cookies behind my dresser as a little girl and binging as fast and hard as I could before anyone could find them. I remember being in 8th grade and a little snot-faced twit that I had a crush on asked me how much I weighed. I laughed and said "None of your business!" To which he responded, "Come on, is it like 200 pounds?" The look on my face was probably an easy tell, but I laughed hysterically like he just ate a bag of mushrooms and responded, "My GOD, gross!!! No WAY!" Of course, that was exactly how much I weighed. To the ounce. Maybe even a couple ounces more.

Me a couple awkward years later at Junior Prom

So, here I go again. And this time, I am taking down all of my barriers. I am not going to pretend I weigh even within Spanx range of my driver's license. I am not going to sit here and get offended when my fellow fat friends lump me into the "fat girl" group. I am not going professionally fish for compliments from my husband (who I am sure has run dry of different ways of saying you're sexy-curvy). I am airing out that dirty laundry for the world to see, and by God, if I don't beat this thing, I will die trying!

Fatty, Fatty, Two-by-Four

Here I sit, literally ripping on my hair wondering if I actually have the balls to document this journey. Weight loss. How tired and worn out. Flip on any channel on TV and see some chubby person sweating profusely, gagging up bile or being squeezed into Spanx to look skinnier. Yo-yo dieting is an American profession with Oprah as CEO. But yet, here I am trying adamantly to lose "baby weight" that most people think refers to my eight-month old son, but really refers to this fat little imp in my brain that I was born with. The one that tells you you can't do it, that you're too fat, that you'll look like a deflated elephant even if you were to lose the weight, that you're husband doesn't deserve your cellulite and saggy skin, that your kids are going to get teased because their mom is Fatty, Fatty Two-By-Four...Oh, I have thought it all.

So, bottom line? I am going to be honest with myself through this blog. I am going to document the ugly parts, the funny parts, the embarrassing parts, the parts that most women think they are alone on (at least I hope there's more people like me out there!).

Here are the Stats to date:

Starting weight as of January 1st: 325 pounds (I am literally about to breathe into a bag I am near hyperventilation just typing that)

Weight today: 310 pounds (achieved my first goal of being at the weight I was before I got pregnant)

Next goal: 299 (not only because it gets me out of the ugliest number imaginable, but because that was the weight I was at in college when I started Weight Watchers and lost 75 pounds)