Maybe it's time to invest in a scale, for I cannot put a number to my current weight. I've always gone with the how do my jeans fit rule? Jeans a little snug-need to drop a few pounds, jeans a little loose by lunch-doing just fine.
February was a bit of a set back, I started feeling more of the jeans are somewhat of a squeeze to get into. Oh and don't turn around because that may just be a muffin top gracing your lower back. Yeah.
Well, in my defense, I had a traveling husband, which leaves me to my no one is watching devices. And on top of that, I had company. The type of company that cooks morning, noon, and night. Even worse, it's the cooking I so often crave, the cooking that is indulgent, the cooking I can only handle a few times a year. Then there was a birthday with a five course meal and a friend who conveniently dropped by 4, yes FOUR boxes of girl scout cookies, out of the goodness in her heart.
Yes, pull the jeans up really, really hard over the thighs, and breathe in..Oh yes, the button does work. Good thing it's a rivet. I need metal on my side this week.
Then reality returns. I realize the jeans aren't fitting to my liking. The indulgent food has been consumed. My hubby is back. Healthy eating is once again on the menu. The weather perks up. I start walking more.
But sometimes when everything is moving in the right direction, I hear a little voice. The voice that I should get my hand away from my sweet and innocent vintage milk glass candy dish, that I should have only ONE girl scout cookie. The voice, which is getting defeated by my actions.
If I didn't have the voice telling me NO! Don't Do It! I would probably just have a glass of water and forget about the food. It's almost like I am defying my own thoughts.
Jeans are fitting better now. I think I am going to fight back with the purchase of a scale; my math brain will just have to wrap itself around a number, a shrinking number.