I weighed in this morning at 197.2. The highest weight for the week was 198.0 and the lowest was 196.6. So the post-miscarriage bloat went away, but I didn’t lose any real weight.
I am tired out from the long holiday weekend. My husband had Good Friday off from work, so we all three had a little field trip on Friday morning. We all worked outside a lot, preparing for the gardening season to come. We took family walks. We cooked family meals. This morning we hunted eggs and dyed eggs and made pie and got dressed up and went to a big family meal. This afternoon there was more working outside and another walk.
It’s great, but losing my Friday morning to myself–and also being gun shy about doing housework during family time–means that the house is a wreck and I am in sore need of some time by myself. Tomorrow morning, if I was trying to catch up, I’d need to wash all the clothes plus the bedsheets, clean the bathrooms, and clean all of the floors–in addition to a double-duty pick up of the house and trying, once again, to get the kitchen cleaned up. Oh, right, and spend some time on the elliptical machine too, because I’m trying to lose weight right? Oh, and call all of the family I need to call to thank them for cards and gifts to my daughter on Easter, on her birthday, on Valentine’s Day, on Christmas… and to wish a belated happy birthday to every damn one of them. Except the kids. I am a stickler about getting cards and presents to the kids. But aren’t adults too old for birthdays? I feel too old for birthdays.
I am just plain worn out and need to eat something and put myself to bed. This isn’t a constructive frame of mind. I just wish I wasn’t so ravenously hungry in the middle of all of it, trying not to eat, feeling hungry and angry and weak and persecuted and always, always, always fat. My biggest obstacle to weight loss is HUNGER. My husband and his sister can skip meals and not suffer. I can’t even skip snacks and not suffer.
Yeah, today is a total nutritional wash, so I might as well feed my growling (literally!) belly and put my sad sorry self to bed. Tomorrow is another day, right?