Unable to Numb

Something always happens when I start tracking correctly again-

I have to deal with my emotions.

I’m a grown up. I deal with my emotions quite well most of the time. But I’m a binge eater, and have been since what feels like birth. All of this fertility and baby loss caused me to fall back into old habits of eating massive amounts of food to numb myself from having to think about anything.

Last night was a perfect example:

After a particularly trying day with a headstrong 2.5 year old, I put her to bed early. The grand finale of a tough day with a kid we’re trying to raise into a productive human was getting head butted in the face by her and getting a fat lip. 

  What’s that? You want to know how this sweet little angel gluing shapes to construction paper mere hours earlier could’ve done such a thing? The threenager is strong with this one, folks. Strong.

I may have cried. 

And wanted chocolate.

Alabama and LSU played and I was going to try my best to stay up and watch.

(Pic from tailgating in 2011)

As I settled in to watch the game I craved all of the junky food I always do. I wanted something salty, but I was out of points. So I got out the broccoli slaw I had Matt pick me up at Trader Joe’s and sautΓ©ed it with some braggs liquid aminos. And, like the basic white girl I am, sipped a la croix. 

It hit the spot. Instead of demolishing a bag of chips I got my craving out of the way and watched the game. I fell asleep on the couch and Matt had to herd me into the bedroom when he got home. But Alabama won and what I saw of the game before I drifted off was awesome.

For years- maybe even my whole life- I’ve used food as a coping mechanism. One of my very first memories is climbing up on a chair to reach the cookie jar in the middle of the night while my parents screamed and fought. I ate Oreos until I was physically ill and then went back to bed before they even noticed I was up. Food numbs whatever you have going on if you need it to, but long term it’s no good.

Tracking my food through Weight Watchers and really sticking to plan makes me unable to numb myself with food.

I guess that’s why I like it. It balances me and grounds me. 

My week is going to be a little crazy. Monday Quinn has dance, Tuesday Matt’s weekend starts and we have the inspection on the new house, Wednesday I have a 3 hour blood glucose test to complete our fertility testing panel, and Thursday I just may nap all day.

Not really.

I’m going to make an effort to blog more often because blogging regularly=support and success in the past. Look for weigh in update on Monday.

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I survived Hell Week

I made it out of the most painful 2 minutes of my life alive. The HSG test was a bitch, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. When the doctor first numbed my cervix I was thinking “Oh, this is not so ba — WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!!” And for 2 solid minutes the dye burned like fire and I thought my insides would explode. Then it was over. And while I was gaining my composure he and the radiologist read the results right there- I have a normal, functioning uterus. My Fallopian tubes are not blocked. My c-section did not leave excessive scar tissue. I have no fibroids. The dye spilled where it was supposed to spill and my uterus looks like a normal shaped uterus.

I left comfortable that we had checked another box off of the fertility checklist. I almost cancelled the test, but had we gotten pregnant again and miscarried I would’ve wondered if something on the test was the reason. I’m glad I went through with it but I would not line up to do it again unless I had to. 

Before the procedure I was sat in a room with 6 other ladies, all of us having the same test. All of us wearing the same hospital gowns with sheets wrapped around our waists. We shared our stories and made small talk. Some had the test prior and said it was awful and some said theirs wasn’t that bad, so I really think it is different for everyone. I wouldn’t trust what you read online as far as what a painful test means because I read that painful=blocked Fallopian tubes and mine were not blocked at all and it still hurt. I took ibuprofen and Valium before I went in, stupidly forgetting that the Valium they gave me for my LASIK surgery in 2011 didn’t kick in until I got home. Oh well. 

The next step in our fertility journey is getting the results of Matt’s chromosome analysis back (mine came back normal) and me going in for a 3 hour blood glucose screening next Wednesday because my insulin levels are elevated (Thanks, PCOS. Thanks a lot). 

I call this Hell Week because Monday was the hsg, Tuesday was the first anniversary of our miscarriage last year at 10.5 weeks, and Wednesday I got sick enough to require a doctor’s visit Thursday. I’ve spent all of Friday in the bed, medicated for tonsillitis and a chest infection. 

We wanted to do something to commemorate our baby that didn’t have a chance, but not in the “let’s take a bunch of pictures of us releasing balloons and share them on social media” way. We kind of wanted to do something private and  not explain to Quinn what we were doing because she’s a kid, ya know?  I did want to release balloons but forgot about the time change making everything dark super early so we got a big pumpkin muffin, lit a candle and sang happy birthday. Quinn clapped and sang along and Matt and I both looked at each other then looked away because we were both on the verge of tears. 

It’s been a rough year. I found this, which seems so fitting for what we are going through-

Yes. It hurts because it mattered so much to us and it’s gone. This goes for the one that happened this September, too. 

I feel like my body has been put through hell, by circumstances beyond my control and some in my control. 

Obviously I didn’t gain all of that in a week, but October was a rough month emotionally around here and I inhale my emotions in the form of cheese, milkshakes, chips, cookies, and any other junk I can get my hands on. 

It’s a viscous cycle, and one I’m ready to break- because yesterday at the doctor I couldn’t get a steroid shot because my insulin levels are up (to be fair, I had to discontinue my metformin because of the procedure Monday. I started back up today) and my blood pressure was high.

So I’m going back to old trusty. Tracking again starting today, hoping to drop some weight in the middle of this fertility storm so I can give our future kid a better shot. I’m embarrassed of how many jars of cookie butter I’ve single handedly eaten. Embarrassed.

But, true to what has always happened in my life with the highest of highs come the lowest of lows, and vice versa-

We bought a house! It’s adorable and we close in December. I don’t know if it will be our forever home, but it will be our “We could stay a few years and not move every year” home. The house has been completely renovated and has new kitchen appliances, heat, air, flooring, paint, trim… It’s like walking into a brand new home but it was built in 2004. We love it and the best news is it’s in the same neighborhood we are renting in, but closer to the pool and clubhouse.

I always said I didn’t want to live in a neighborhood where all of the houses look the same but there’s something about our little neighborhood. Halloween night the sidewalks were full of kids and adults dressed in costumes going door to door. It was pouring but everyone was having a blast, us included.  

Our anniversary was also Halloween. Three years ago I married the man I was meant to be with. We have been through a lot in 3 years, more than most couples go through in 10. But we continue to get stronger as a couple. He and Quinn are my universe and having them surround me with love this Hell Week has been the best. 

Matt has taken Quinn to do fun stuff while I rest up. Then I get texts like this.  

Bless his heart and apologies to any kid Quinn’s potty mouth rubs off on.

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Fertility Stuff

I wasn’t going to write about fertility or what we’re doing next. I think I thought that by not writing about it I wouldn’t have to deal with the emotions surrounding it. I was wrong. It’s so emotionally draining. There’s so much to it. Blood work, surgical procedures, insurance, copays, detailed instructions, pain… 
I’ve decided to document our journey here so that (hopefully) I can look back in a year and see how far we’ve come. Here goes.
So far I’ve only had a ton of bloodwork done. 18 vials taken the very first day. I was bruised for over a week, but I didn’t pass out. The numbers don’t really mean anything to me yet (not until my appointment with the dr to discuss treatment) except my insulin levels are high, which means the metformin I’m on for treatment of pcos isn’t doing it’s job. And my vitamin D is low despite all the time we spend outside. It’s fat soluble, and I have fat. So I’m having to supplement 5000iu a day so it will raise. Sadly enough, low vitamin D can cause miscarriage so our problem could be as simple as that if everything else checks out. Also the untreated elevated insulin levels could be causing it. Our Doctor explained to us that fertility is a very complicated puzzle and you need to have every piece for it to go together properly. It’s so. much.
Next stop on the fertility treatment train is a dye test that some say is extremely painful called an HSG. In short, a catheter (worst word in the English language, even worse than “moist”) is shoved into your cervix and dye is pushed through your inner workings to make sure no blockages are present. You are instructed to take aleve an hour before the procedure. This was completely doing my head in and I finally broke down and called the doctor and asked for something stronger. I have one single solitary Valium in my possession now to get me through this test, but I’m still a ball of nerves. 

This hit fever pitch levels last night after all of our trick or treating was done. Fern and Wilbur had a fabulous time. 

  I was Charlotte. 

  Matt was Templeton. Our costumes got soggy in the rain.  

 We got home, took our candy tax, Matt went to work and the anxiety kicked in.
As I laid in bed physically shaking from reading reviews of the hsg test and how bad it hurts I flip to Facebook to get my mind off of it and there it is:

Our neighbors had their twins.

She’s walked down this same scary, uncertain road. She showed me her three ring binder full of medical paperwork from the very same fertility office we go to. It’s all so overwhelming and we are already drowning in paperwork. 

Just a few days ago she was saying how scared she was that something bad was going to happen to her babies (because she’s suffered losses as well) and there she was in the picture holding healthy miracles. I bawled like a baby (or two).
We’re all scared. Scared of pain. Scared of loss. Scared of what will happen because we are completely out of control and something that should be very easy has proven very difficult.
So Monday I’m taking my Valium. I’m showing up. I’m going to have the hsg done and hope it doesn’t hurt too bad. I’m going to pick a place on the wall and stare at it until it’s over, just like I always have during painful things.
Because I want a baby. Or two. 3 is fine, too.
And all the pain in the world is worth the joy of adding to our family. 
For everyone walking this road and for those of you who have been through this same pain, fear, and uncertainty- 

Breathe, y’all. It’s going to be ok.

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I’m still here

I want to write. I want to write all about what the fertility doctor said and about how many vials of blood they took and what the results were and how I’m holding up.

I sit down to do it and can’t find the words. We’re closing in on one year since our 10.5 week old baby (fetus? 10.5 week old fetus sounds heartless, but technically?..) died. Lately I’m just trying to be a good mom and wife and give myself a pass on things. I’m keeping Q involved in her fun things we do every week and enjoying all that fall in Alabama has to offer us. Cool family days at the pumpkin patch followed by 82 degree weekday afternoons spent sitting in lawn chairs with my sweet neighbor chit chatting as we watch Quinn decorate their driveway with sidewalk chalk. 

She is days away from having twins. A year ago after the shock of miscarriage I wouldn’t have been able to handle chatting with her. I would’ve had to stay away from her out of jealousy and all of the “it’s not fair”‘s that would be swirling through my mind.

 But it doesn’t bother me now. I’ve realized by going through this that people have babies everyday-

But some people can’t.

Some people have one, and can’t have another.

Sometimes fertility treatments work, and sometimes they don’t.

It’s NOT fair, but neither is life sometimes.

I’ve told Matt that I feel like Charlotte in Sex in the City when she gets upset and says “Nobody gets everything they want! I’m so happy and something bad is going to happen!” That’s what I feel like has happened to us the last year, but that’s silly thinking, too. Things just happen. 

While we wait on test results and my body to start doing what it’s supposed to do so we can move forward with a game plan that the fertility doc will choose for us, I’m just trying to remind myself to be kind to myself. Even if that means crawling in bed with my 3rd shift working husband while our kid naps. 

So if you’re going through something like this, resist the urge to be super mom and just give yourself a break. Make brownies and watch Scandal. Pop a frozen lasagna in the oven and throw together a salad kit for dinner. Tell Pinterest to fuck off, because being the most pinteresty mom out there means nothing. I did try mummy dogs. Fail.

I’m enjoying my family and not overthinking things. I’m resting. I’m taking it easy on myself and I’m happy. 

I may write again soon. I may not. I’ve kind of lost the spark.

And I’m ok with that.

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Most people love getting flowers. I’m one of those people. I’ve gotten flowers for lots of fun stuff in my life. I’ve never gotten sympathy flowers- until today. 

I was furiously cleaning my entire house because idle hands and minds and all, and the doorbell rang. 

I didn’t make it to the door in time.  I ran full speed across the wet kitchen floor to go retrieve my bra from the bedroom and put it on before opening the door and scaring anyone. I was cussing under my breath at the possible solicitation happening on my doorstep. By the time I wrestled my bra on and got back to the door, there was no one there. I looked across the street to my neighbor, who has recently had a new baby girl. They gave a few decorations out announcing their good news. Timing, y’all. Can’t do a thing about it.

I looked down and saw the beautiful flowers waiting on me and burst into tears. Full disclosure- I’m not a cryer. It takes a lot. I haven’t spoken to my father since October because he’s a deadbeat and I have not shed a single tear.

But these flowers hit me straight in the gut. I imagine this is what people feel like when people send flowers for a funeral. Sure, it’s a beautiful gesture and much appreciated. But it hurts your heart to the very core.

I don’t begrudge the neighbor across the street for her baby girl. I sure don’t my sweet friend next door who, after her own fertility struggles and loss, is pregnant with 2 healthy baby girls. It’s just life, but it stings a little.

It’s very hard to see small babies at this point. I missed Quinn’s first dance class last week (so did she, hand foot and mouth disease struck her down) so yesterday was her first class. I had on my happy face and was excited to meet some of the other moms and make small talk in the lobby during class. Except I couldn’t. Because there were babies everywhere and I was having trouble attempting conversation without tearing up.

I understand that most of this is hormonal and it will adjust itself soon and I’ll go back to being my usual heartless self, but right now it’s tough to be an adult.

I know how lucky I am to have one healthy kid. I do not want anyone struggling with fertility to think I take that for granted at all, because I don’t. But my one healthy kid bawled her eyes out at the end of dance class yesterday because her friends had to go home. She needs a buddy at home. 

And if by some miracle we’re able to have another baby after these two losses that we’ve suffered, I promise never to complain for one second about them fighting and arguing as they get older. I’ll make them hold hands and clean the bathroom together as punishment and hug their necks and kiss their heads and be so thankful that they’re alive. 

And if we never have another baby, I will make sure this kid gets the most amazing childhood we can muster because she is a walking, talking, twirling, messy little miracle. 


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Empty Arms Again

Last November 3rd we lost our baby at 10.5 weeks. This September 14th we lost another one, this time at 7.5 weeks. 

Last year I was told a d&c wasn’t needed and to “wait it out”. This time my much more experienced doctor said a d&c was best. I had one Monday. Recovery physically is already 1000000xs better than recovery last time. Mentally will take time. 

Last time we were in complete shock. We had seen a heartbeat. We thought we were in the safe zone. This time my numbers looked great to start but the whole time we were cautiously optimistic because of what happened last time. Unfortunately we had good reason to be. We never saw a heartbeat. 

We’re about to go down a road I swore I never would- We are being referred to a fertility specialist. Last time we felt bruised and battered and a little scared to ever try again. This time we want answers and a plan because I turn 35 in June and it’s becoming very evident that the clock is ticking. 

We have been surrounded by people since this happened. It’s so good to be home in Alabama where we have people to help in times like this. Neighbors made us a wonderful meal, my grandparents were here to care for Quinn while I had surgery, and my mom is here indefinitely because I can’t lift a 27 pound kid right now. 

We feel the love from all of our family and friends near and far. I know some of you have been rooting us on since our little family was established. It didn’t seem right not to share here, too. 

We are so thankful for what we have. Some women with pcos don’t ever get one healthy kid. Even with the high risk pregnancy and everything we had to do to keep Quinn going and growing, it was worth it.

Even when she’s “watering the grass” and turns the hose on me and laughs maniacally.

Makes our heartbreak a little bit easier to handle. You smile 20 times a day with a 2 year old whether you think you want to or not.

Happier days, when I was still blissfully pregnant and eating chocolate cake at the place in Atlanta Matt asked me to marry him. We went back to our old neighborhood and boy, do I miss it.

And taking Nanny and Grampy back to the airport just days before our world fell apart again.

And this Big Sister beach announcement that doesn’t apply now. Gutted.

Keep us in your thoughts and prayers. 

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Breathing Fire

By now you’ve probably heard all about the Josh Duggar scandal. 

In short, he’s a pedophile and adulterer. No, I won’t say “alleged”. He’s trash. 

I see people saying “Leave the Duggars alone!” Nope. They chose this life. Even Josh.

But his wife and children are the real victims here.

A mom on Facebook took on this subject head on in this story. She said everything I wanted to say, but I’ll expand.

The problem with what Anna Duggar has been taught her whole life is that it’s bullshit. I’m not an overly religious person, despite being dragged to church every time the doors were opened as a child. I’m by far the most liberal person in my uber conservative family. I’ve been taught my whole life that “marriage is forever!” and that you just work it out and stay together.

Here’s the thing-

I don’t believe God wants anyone to be miserable. I don’t believe that God wants women to stay with child molesters and adulterers and I don’t believe that he wants them to crank out baby after baby in the name of religion, bringing more victims into a horrible situation.

But there is a whole subculture of people who believe this to be true.

My parents married when they were 23 years old. I was born a year later. My childhood was full of yelling, fighting, screaming, drama, stress, and turmoil. I used to actually pray that they divorced so I could have some peace at home. All of my friends with divorced parents seemed happier than I was. But because divorce was frowned upon, their troubled marriage raged on. I have very few holiday memories that don’t include massive blow up fights between them. We would leave home Christmas Day to go to my grandparents house just an hour away and turn around twice and go back home with one of them threatening not to go, let one of them out on the highway because they claimed they were going to walk home, only to pick them up and show up 2 hours late to the family event after being told to not say why we were late. Every. Holiday. 

It was exhausting. 

When I was 25 it was revealed that my dad cheated on my mom and he left her and they eventually divorced. By this time she was a raging alcoholic and had been for years. Now we know this is because he cheated on her their entire marriage. She got help and sobered up. They got back together, remarried, and continued the disfunction. They divorced again. Got back together again. This has happened several times, the most recent just a few months ago. I’m not even 100% sure of their marital status at this point. 

My mom believes that marriage is forever and that somehow she is defying God if she doesn’t do everything in her power to stay with my dad. Most rational people don’t agree with this, but when it’s been shoved down your throat your whole life you believe it.

I think a lot about how different her life would be if she had chosen herself first and what would make her happy years ago instead of forcing herself to stay miserable. She wears the years of stress on her face. I do know that when I was agonizing over my own marriage I found myself at peace with divorce because I viewed her life as a cautionary tale.

 I can now look back and say that my first marriage was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life. It was wrong from the beginning but I forced it and I paid for it in the end. In all honesty, part of the reason I originally got married was because of family pressure not to “live in sin”. Even the day I got married, I just felt yucky walking down the aisle. Like a skin crawling feeling that, at the time, I attributed to nerves. It wasn’t. It was that feeling you get when something just isn’t right. In contrast the day I married Matt I was giddy with excitement and stood barefoot and pregnant in the courthouse on Halloween night 2012 with a judge that looked like Elvis marrying us, a total abomination of anything I had been taught growing up, and I knew that moment it was the most right thing I’ve ever done in my life. I remember thinking “So this is how it’s supposed to feel!” It was exhilarating. 

I feel like I lived my 20s on autopilot and just floated through life, distracting myself with vacations, shopping, anything but my weird, sad marriage. My ex was 15 years older than me and, as our relationship went on, the differences between us could not be ignored anymore. I isolated myself because my friends didn’t want to hang out with an old guy. Our job didn’t help at all because it was very isolating as well.

I like to say my life began when I was 30. It was the year I figured out what I wanted, the year I truly learned how to breathe fire. I stopped putting up with things that I had excused away in the past. When divorce was brought up as some kind of threat that year, I took it as a sign that it really was over and I did something my mom has never been able to do-

I moved on.

I moved on with no support from my “divorce is wrong!” family. But I did it anyway. I didn’t need them to validate my feelings. They didn’t live my life. 

Looking back, I can’t believe I ever let someone else’s belief on marriage and divorce or some imaginary biblical rule dictate what I did. I would’ve missed out on so much if I stuck it out through a horrible marriage for 20-30 more years.

I wouldn’t have found true happiness, and I wouldn’t be living what I never even knew was my dream life. It seems so ordinary to everyone else to be a stay at home mom with a toddler and a husband and a little dog in suburbia. I thought I never wanted this. Now I basque in the glow of normalcy, day after day. It never gets old.

What I realize now is that I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve it.

I wonder if Anna Duggar has convinced herself she deserves the pain associated with having a creep for a husband?

No one deserves that.

Though her family may not be supportive and she may be stuck with 4 kids, no education, and a million other “can’t do that, it’s wrong”‘s, she can find a way to break away and be happy. 

I did. 

She just has to breathe that fire and burn those walls down.

Happiness is on the other side of them. 


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I’m not weighing in

I’m just not. I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon with my doctor and my doctor’s office has a nutritionist and I am going to consult with them to see what to do next.

I’ve been playing a weight loss game with myself. I buckle down. I lose. I slack off. I gain. Rinse, lather, repeat.

I’m tired. And I’m done for a while.

In the meantime I’m enjoying my family 

Exploring my new city

And living my life. 

And trying to get my house in running order so when my inlaws land in less than 2 weeks (!!!!!!!) they have somewhere comfortable to stay.

Life. Life is happening right here, right now. 

And the number on the scale doesn’t matter at the moment.


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Weigh in

I’m up slightly after my weigh in hiatus. Truthfully, I haven’t been tracking.  


It was nice to take a break. Quinn and I both have colds from the depths of hell and it’s been survival or nothing around here since Friday evening. 

Speaking of Friday, we met new friends at a local splash pad to let our girls play. They are new to the Birmingham area as well. We had a great time and are getting together soon.  I was supposed to meet new mom friend at a local park for a boot camp/stroller workout type thing today but we still have the plague so it’s a no. 
But before it hit us hard- 

Aren’t splash pads the best? 

And obviously protecting our new friend’s identity by no face shots, but baby yoga in the park- priceless 

It was hours after this Friday that we started feeling like death. I also got a little too much sun.


We went to the splash pad, the indoor bounce house (twice!), the library and the McWane Science Center last week. We were bound to get sick with all of those germs intersecting. 

Since Saturday, the only time we’ve left the house was for a quick fro-yo date and a run through the drive thru at a BBQ place for a giant salad covered in smoked chicken on Saturday and to hit the pharmacy drive thru for my metformin and go to Dollar Tree to get my child glue sticks. She has decided she’s queen crafty and wants to glue shit together 24/7. 

My brother is bringing my niece to us today and I’m taking thing one and thing two to target later. And possibly fro-yo. Because sore throats just don’t soothe themselves, yall.

I’m tracking today but honestly, I don’t even know if I hit all my points yesterday. I’m feeling kinda crappy still so hopefully we’ll be back to our active selves tomorrow. I miss the pool.

Oh, and highlight of the week-  
Pumpkin Noosa is BACK, and in tiny pots to help us not inhale the bigger pots. 

So good. So good! 

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How does it feel?

I’m about to get deeply personal for a minute. I know, I used to do this all the time here in this space. I stopped. Mostly to protect myself during my divorce. Then to protect my unborn child (from what, I don’t really know. Judgement? I don’t know). I was telling Jennifer over lunch how much I feel I’ve withdrawn from this blog and how I wish I could get back to where I was in a sense. I used to enjoy it more. I realized this past week that I enjoyed it more because I shared more of myself.

So here I am.

I’m doing something I haven’t done in a while. I’m giving myself a weigh in pass this week. Not because I think I’ve gained. I actually think I’ve probably just stayed the same. But because mentally, I need a break from the scale. I spent all week weighing and measuring and tracking and moving as much as possible and I felt really good. I’ve been dying for Tex-Mex since remembering how delicious Chuy’s is and yesterday afternoon we went out for an early dinner. It was as delicious as I remember. Something didn’t sit well with me, though. 

Every bite I took, I thought about gaining weight. I didn’t go overboard. But with every bite I took I had a million thoughts swirling through my head. 

How does it feel? How does it feel to just go out and enjoy a meal with your family without feeling like crap about what you’re eating?

I wouldn’t know. I’ve been “dieting” since I was about 9 years old. 

I’ve been at this for atleast 25 years of my life and it has consumed me at times. It has made me angry. Sad. Butter (Bitter, but my phone typed butter so I’m leaving it). Withdrawn. It has made me feel the need to overcompensate in many ways because as an overweight person society tells us we aren’t “enough”. 

As a teenager, despite starving myself to attempt to be Kate Moss-like (damn 90s), I overcompensated by being wild and unruly. I think I thought that taking risks would make people not notice the extra weight I was binging and purging away. Spoiler alert: I was still the biggest girl in the room on the regular.

I spent every single year trying to lose weight. Pills. Shakes. Three day tuna fish diets. Praying- actually PRAYING- that God would let me wake up skinny. 

Never happened

I want to find out why. I want to see a doctor and I want them to tell me why, despite my many attempts to lose weight and keep it off, why can’t I do it?

How does it feel to be a success story permenantly? I had a glimpse with previous weight loss. I felt amazing right before I got pregnant with Quinn. I assumed I would pick right back up after I had her and lose the rest and be done.

That was 2.5 years ago.

It’s a daily struggle. I’m on metformin to help control the pcos that is to blame for a portion of it, but it’s not a miracle pill.

The truth is, I don’t want a miracle pill. I want to be a normal person who eats normal food and weighs a normal weight. I want to break the cycle that I’ve been living in for Twenty. Five. Years. 

Yesterday after dinner we took Quinn for fro-yo. I was snapping pictures of her the minute Matt asked her if she wanted ice cream.

And a special day for her because she stated proudly when we got to Yogurt Mountain “I a big girl. I get my berry own and eat all by myselps.”

And so she did.

How sad is it that as I was making her yogurt I was mentally measuring it out in my head? 1/4 cup of yogurt. Teaspoon of sprinkles. Teaspoon of mini m&m’s. Oh no, I accidentally put too much whipped cream. There must be atleast 1/2 cup there. Should I have scraped some off?

But she was just a kid enjoying a treat. A healthy, normal sized active kid who rarely gets ice cream eating her treat.

I don’t want her to have the same problem I have. I struggle with her constantly seeing me weigh and measure everything I eat out. Is that going to hurt her in the long run? What about when she starts to notice that I’m the fat mom?

So for this week, I won’t be stepping on the scale. I need to get my head right. I need to make a doctor’s appointment and have blood work done and see what to do next. I need to figure out if my insurance covers a nutritionist. I need to change what I’m doing because 3 pounds down, 2 pounds up isn’t working for me anymore. 

But most of all, I need a break from the numbers that make or break my life. The scale shouldn’t determine your self worth, but when it shows 100 pounds heavier than it should, it certainly determines how you feel about yourself. 

Here’s to taking breaks and making plans. I’m taking this week to do both so I can move forward.


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