At this point in my life I can’t indulge myself with time or money. And so at the end of a hard day when I’m looking to reward myself for making it through, just keeping it together until bedtime, I have food and drink. Something sweet, a margarita, a glass of wine – something to look forward to sharing with my husband as the night unravels. And yet I am well aware that it is these treats that are preventing me from losing the last bit of weight that plagues me daily.
As far as I am concerned there is a five pound difference between my pants fitting comfortably and looking good and being too tight and looking like a cow. In fact I look pregnant. Those pounds go right to my midsection, and I look like I’m carrying low. I plan on dieting but sense of entitlement overcomes my willpower and I get nowhere.
Last month I lost some weight. But then I got sick a couple of times and it took me forever to recover so I convinced myself that it really wasn’t right to diet and nurse. Ray nurses regularly – about 5 to 6 times a day, and he shows no interest in cutting down. I feel that I should wait until he at least cuts down to really go back on a stringent diet, but then I look in the mirror and I want to spit at myself.
I’m not a tiny, thin person and never will be. I’ve come to grips with that over the years. But I do want to be a bit thinner. It’s not the pant size so much as areas of bulginess that make any size fit uncomfortably. But it’s so damn hard to do the work. And when I’ve done some of the work it takes a snap of the fingers for it to come right back.
At least it is fall. In the last two weeks people keep commenting that I look thinner when in fact I have gained a few pounds. I can attribute this to two things. One – it’ getting colder so my clothes can be a bit bulkier and more forgiving. And two – people must think of me as heavier than I really am, so when they see me they think I have lost weight.