So, I stepped on the scale this morning.
192.5.
Whew.
I totally watched the numbers waver between 192.5 and 193 and I was willing them to stay at that .5 with every fiber of my being. Seriously.
There was a major mental hurdle to jump with the .5 this week. Like I NEEDED it to be at a .5 so that I could feel slightly less obnoxiously oversized. So, I feel less obnoxiously oversized today.
I’m a huge fail when it comes to healthy dinners. Huge fail. Partly because I can actually cook again since I don’t have practices. That’s nice. And fattening. And I love to cook. I’m like Suzy Homemaker in that respect. I love having dinner ready when Dan walks in the door. And I’d totally hand him the paper and a beer and be all “Honey, how was your day?” if I weren’t too busy trying to keep Joshua from feeding his yogurt to the dog. (Not that Dan expects any of that. He realizes this isn’t 1952.)
I mean, this week, we’re talking Smashed Potato soup in the crock pot, Brinner, and a good ol’ Southern meat-and-three. And lots of crescent rolls. And a Tombstone. Because there’s always room for pizza, right? ::sigh::
I’m trying to throw more salads into our routine and I’ve decided to have Raisin Bran for breakfast each morning and healthy snacks/meals throughout the day. (Though, the Easy Mac I brought for lunch isn’t exactly healthy…nor are the package of Nutter Butters that I haven’t eaten yet and will try not to eat.)
I’m not even going to pretend that I’ll go walking in the afternoons because as soon as I set myself up for that brand of failure, I’ll succeed. In failing. Miserably. Because I. HATE. EXERCISE.
I do. I hate it. I’m lazy and I hate it. And I hate the feeling that I’m being judged instead of the kudos of “Look at her go! Way to be healthy!” Because you KNOW that’s not what the skinny people at the gym or running down the street preparing for a marathon think of the McFatties when they see us coming.
I hate that we live in such a sizist culture.
So, any wise words from you awesome people?