Did I ever tell you guys how we took a trip to Disneyland a few weeks back? Well we did and it was mostly fun. Aside from the blisters I still have 3 weeks later.
On day two we went to California Disney and as soon as we arrived I had to pee. I went in and peed washed my hands and went walking down the street by all of the shops in search of my family. I walked about 20 feet before I reached back to adjust my pants and realized there was toilet paper hanging out the back of them. Only, it wasn't just a little bit, it was dangling about down to my knees and the bottom of it was soaking wet and bumping into my pants.
I was horrified and quickly tried to get it all out of my pants and undies and then dispose of it. The only problem is my husband happened to come walking up behind me and he saw it happen. He started laughing and asked if that really just happened. I was horrified. He looked at me and said, "really, that really happened? I thought that kind of thing only happened in movies."
No. It happens in real life, in Disenyland.
I've had this Giant's watch for a couple years now. When I gained weight I stopped wearing watches, jewelry, and pretty much anything girly. The watch has sat inside it's box in my closet for ages now. When I got word that the team my husband and I would be managing in little league would be the Giants I immediately gathered all of my Giants gear so I could be the coolest team mom ever. I pulled this watch out and I've worn it a few times since. I guess my life is pretty noisy because I've never noticed this fucking watch tick tocks LOUDLY.
I laid out my clothes for the team picture today before bed last night. On top of my clothes I put my Giants watch to remind myself to wear that one and not one of my others. This morning when my husband left for work I woke up and took out my ear plugs so I could hear the boys if they woke up.
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK
Holy shit. In a silent house the watch was tick tocking as loud as the heart in that Edgar Allen Poe story. I kept trying to doze off but I couldn't because I just kept hearing tick tick tick TICK TICK. The ticking weaved into my dreams and before I knew it I was dreaming of bombs, clocks and basically being stuck in a room with a new form a Chinese water torture in which I'm forced to listen to this ticking. I finally woke up and tried hiding the watch in the clothes. It did not matter. I heard it. I went downstairs and made coffee and finally got some peace. Since then I've left the watch on the bathroom counter, which I forgot about, which meant that in the middle of the night when I got up to pee and heard a ticking noise it scared the shit out of me. When I walk into my room home alone and hear the ticking I freak out. I think I've seen too many bomb episodes of Criminal Minds.
At work the other day I went to the bathroom and I was the only one hear. I heard ticking in the bathroom and obviously panicked for about 14 seconds before realizing it was this fucking watch.
The watch is cute, I love it, and it matches all of my little league stuff, however I think when this season is done I'm going to shove it back in it's box and hide it in the fucking attic because the ticking between now and then just might kill me dead.
When I gained weight I got rid of almost everything from when I was young and thin. For some reason though I held onto this one Lucky Brand bikini. I loved the colors and the style. I had pipe dreams that I would fit into it again "someday." A year ago I pulled the bikini out to go meet some friends at a pool party. I took a picture of myself in it to see how it looked and I think that was the moment I realized how overweight I had become. Until then, I honestly thought I could wear this bikini with no problems. I put the bikini in a drawer, put on my one piece and went to the pool. About eight months ago I pulled the bikini bottoms back out and tried them on. Still didn't fit. This morning I tried it on again. I still wouldn't wear it in public but I'm starting to feel like wearing this bathing suit again might not be a pipe dream after all. I have made really amazing progress in the last year. My hope is that this time next year I'll be able to take a final picture of me in the bikini and have it fit just exactly right. For those of you following along this is after a 30 pound loss and a 6% body fat loss.
Also, if you are on a similar journey to me share your link, I would love to follow along and watch others reach their goals like I am.
Just some updates. This was me on vacation in 2012 and me on vacation this week. I see a lot of change. I owe you guys a blog about my trip to Disneyland that involves a bee sting on my bikini line the first day we arrived in LA, an infected blister, a shin splint, and a few piggy back rides.
I'm too tired to give you that post right now though.
In the mean time I want to talk about the last post I posted. The one titled Whiplash. When I posted that blog I was feeling pretty down on myself. Serious self loathing. I posted those photos to show you all what I see when I look in the mirror. How I dissect myself and pick apart my body. I wanted the self hate to be clear. I received a comment later that day asking if my husband was okay that I posted those pictures of myself because this other persons husband would never allow them to post those photos.
I should first point out that I was wearing the same amount of clothing as a bikini. Then I would like to point out that no part of that post was sexual. I replied to that girl and said, "If my husband read that post, and all that he took away from it was that I posted pics of myself in my panties, then we have bigger problems." This person didn't understand and kept saying that I shouldn't have posted those pictures. So lets clear this up now. My husband doesn't care. He wasn't mad. He knows how I look at myself. He knows what I was doing when I wrote that post. He knows that not only was I admitting that I tear myself down, but that I was showing other readers my flaws openly and honestly. I do take sexy pictures. I send those to him only. He knows the difference between sexy teasing photos, and photos in poor lighting to show my stretch marks, flab, and flaws. My husband and I have a very honest relationship. He also knows that this is MY personal blog and if I want to post those pictures I can. If I had posted those pictures and wrote a post about how sexy I was and how hot I was, while making come hither faces into the camera and talked myself up that might have been a different case. I didn't. That blog was me tearing myself apart.
I hope, I sincerely hope that if any of you are ever brave enough to write honest blogs like that, and show your progress pictures that you are met with the same love I was from my husband. I hope that my readers understand this is like my personal diary that I share with you all because I know you are a loving and supportive bunch of friends. I know it was safe to post those photos and I know that all of you would read that blog and understand what I was going through. I knew that none of you would read that blog and associate it with me trying to appear sexy. The mistake I made was posting the link to that particular blog onto my public Facebook rather then my Misguided Mommy Facebook and a "friend" saw it and took it the wrong way.
This website is always going to be an honest one. I have nothing to hide. My husband would never ask me to. I hope that none of you took that blog the wrong way, but I've had the same readers for a long time and I'm willing to bet this is the last time I will ever need to address what I'm wearing in the photos I post.
Happiness is such a fickle thing. This morning I woke up and weighed 159.2 pounds. That was the goal I had been trying to reach for a long time. Then I went to the gym and I found that my body fat had gone from 32.5% on March 7th down to 27.5% today.
Two things happened after. The first is, I stepped of the scale, texted my husband about finally reaching 159 and then immediately followed it up with a text saying, "but we will see if it's still there tomorrow, maybe it was a fluke." When I told him about the body fat loss he asked if I was finally happy to be seeing a tangible indisputable result. I replied, "I want to retest it tomorrow just in case the machine was working wrong, or I gain more weight tomorrow."
This makes my husband furious. I can never just accept the good. I'm always waiting for the bottom to fall out. In all aspects of my life. Yesterday, sure I was trying to be comfortable with my body and say good things, but today, all I noticed was the pooch of fat above my C-section scar. I noticed the way my thighs still rub and jiggle. I noticed the way that my ass and thighs are loaded with cellulite. I noticed how much bigger my waist appeared.
I tore myself apart limb from limb today find anything and everything wrong with me. My workout got cut short because I had to pick up my kids. I immediately postulated that I would gain weight tomorrow because I only burned 276 calories today and not 500-700 calories. I was starving after the gym so I did something out of character and ate a flat bread veggie sandwich from Quiznos with some broccoli cheese soup. Even though the only other food I consumed today was a protein shake (coconut milk, a banana, half an apple, ice, splenda, organic vegan protein powder and vanilla extract), one cup of coffee, raw celery with nothing on it, an apple and one non fat string cheese. After eating the meal right away I beat myself up about the pounds I would gain tomorrow. What if tomorrow the scale gets back into the 160 range? Was it because my workout was cut short, because I ate the flatbread sandwich, did I not drink enough water, or was todays weight really just a fluke and I had never hit that weight to begin with?
I'm going to get personal here.
I take photos daily to send to my husband. After spending hours trying to find the right angle to hide all of my fat I usually just suck it up and send the least horrible of the set.
In this photo all I can see is the dimples in my ass. The front of my thighs are massive and my stomach is not flat it pooches out. STRETCH MARKS.
Oh my God look at the rolls in my ass. My thighs are massive. They are the size of some average peoples waist.
This photo taken at the gym shows how lumpy my stomach is. Again how huge the front of my thighs are, and how lumpy my ass is. STRETCH MARKS
This photo highlights my stretch marks and the roundness of my stomach.
This photo. My God. My stomach pooches. My hips are huge. My thighs aren't even close to having a gap. My cellulite level is reaching high alert. It was just so much badness in one photo.
But the icing on the cake was when I tried to look at my ass from the back.
I don't even know where to start. I have a second ass below the first one. I have more cellulite and cottage cheese then humanly possible. I have dimples in my butt and my god the back of my knees are ugly.
I keep these pictures in my phone as a way to fuel my fire. When I get week at the gym I pull these photos up and say, just one more set.
The thing is, I could have posted the photos of my scale reading 159 rather then 190. I could have posted pictures of the body fat machine telling me I was only 27% body fat and not 34%. I could have posted a picture of my beautiful smile or anything, anything else besides photos putting myself down. But today I couldn't. Today I couldn't find the silver lining. I couldn't see past the flaws. I couldn't stop worrying that tomorrow when I wake up the scale will tell me that todays accomplishment was all a lie.
I wish women could be programmed different. That we could take the achievements as they come without question. That I could find beauty even when I see none.
I have less bad days lately, but some days, the way I feel about my body and self image gives me whiplash.
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