Like mother, like daughter

I traveled north for the weekend to spend some time with my mom. My dad's in Florida loading up the grandfolks for the last great migration north. Mom's lonely. I was happy to oblige.

We had a nice weekend. A really nice weekend. I love how my mom is nearly as giddy about my changes as I am. She indulges my new whims. She makes me try on clothes that I think are too small for me--because she knows they aren't. She gets excited about the little changes that other people don't always see.

For a long time while I was growing up, I felt like my mom was the enemy. After all, she nagged me my whole life about my weight. She took me TOPS when I was 7. She let my brothers eat things she wouldn't give me. As an adult, I realize that she simply was doing her best to keep me from having the same weight issues she had as a child, teen, young adult, woman.

Now, for the first time in my entire adult life, I weigh less than my mom. I wonder what that's like for her. I know she's thrilled for me and wouldn't want anything for me but the success I've had. But I think about how it makes her feel about herself. I know it's not my responsibility for what she feels. It's just that whole mother/daughter thing.

Anyway. It was a great weekend. We went to a baby shower this afternoon for my second cousin. One of my aunts looked directly at me, made eye contact and didn't recognize me. My other aunt, who knew I had surgery and had lost weight, said I look like my mom now. That's not such a bad thing.

Cheese!

Raw glasses, I know. (Or that's what my little mentoree told me. She said RAW was a good thing.)

Photo taken by 3-1/2 year old Connor. The coolest boy in the universe. His mom got him a buzz cut. The only thing that would make him cuter would be a striped t-shirt. I love little boys in striped Ts. They remind me of my brother Darin when we was a squirt.

243 days

I've had a thumb-size stomach for 243 days. Not including the days of my infancy when stomach size was out of my control. I don't know what I'm down since surgery. Remember...no scale in the apartment.

My nose looks bigger.I can reach my toenails to paint them.Here's whereI put my food. In my mouth, not my nose. (Even my nostrils shrunk).My face is so thin I can contort it so that I look like a dweeb. It's what the girls like.

I see dead people.

Better than nothing. I don't know why I lean in all my photos.I got new classes. I love them.

Cool, huh?

Duh

Food's not the enemy. I am.

Food's not doing a damn thing to me. I'm doing it.

Food doesn't create drama in my life. I do.

No shit, sherlock.

Moo

Today wasn't much better. It didn't feel any better.

Morning: Protein shake with 35 gm protein and 1 banana, about 200 calories
Mid Morning: Fiber bar 120 calories
Mid Morning: 1/2 SB breakfast bar 60 calories
Lunch: 3 oz chicken w/1/3 cup artichoke hearts and 2 T dressing, about 250 calories, 25 gm protein
Mid-afternoon: V8, 70 calories
Before dinner: 2 cheese 70 calories; breadsticks 80 calories
Dinner: meatloaf, 1/8 c sauteed veggies, 3 T mashed potatoes ?? calories (went out) I'm going to guess this was around 350 calories total, maybe 450.

So calories for the day come in around 1100 or so. That seems high to me. I could have skipped the mid morning crap and the stuff before dinner. That would have eliminated 330 calories.

Mid morning, I was stressed at work and reading scatter from the prepress department. It's easy to eat when you're reading. And when I got home from work, I felt hungry. I think I felt hungry...maybe it was just my head???

I should have just had more water or something. I feel like a cow.

Demons

I'm coming off four days of bad food. Bad food choices. Bad food experiences. Bad food habits. Just plain bad.

I've eaten too much, too often, too fast. I've eaten rich foods, fatty foods, junk foods. I've eaten too much when I'm with people and I've eaten too much in secrecy.

Crackers. Cheese. Peanut Butter. Eggs. Coffee drinks. Bread. Popcorn. Fast nibbles. Slow gorging. Way more than my pouch really needs. Oh, and I've had beer--not worth it. And a glass of wine.

I don't know why I've been in this place. I think I'm doing ok and then BAM! My hand is going to my mouth and my brain's not stopping it. Putting it in perspective, I have not eaten more than I would have pre-op. But it's more than I need. I average 900 calories a day. And I've eaten probably around 1400 on a couple of these days. Not necessary.

I can't even say I'm eating to avoid anything (that I know of) or eating to hide something. All I know is I want it to stop. I want to stop.

Bad girl, go to your room!

I guess I'm naughty. Really naughty. A bad influence and negative force that is so powerful I have the ability to affect and move the masses to anarchy.

I got kicked off a message board dedicated to "assisting the extremely overweight" (referred to now as AssEO). I can't say what the site is because I could go to prison for up to 2 years for inciting hatred or something. Actually, I'm assuming I got the boot because I can't sign in, my profile is down and any post that I've ever initiated has disappeared. However, my email to the member services address wondering what's up has gone unanswered.

I tried to see if I violated the TOS. But I've yet to find a link to them on the AssEO site.

You know what really bites my shrinking ass? I sent AssEO money for a flipping magazine subscription, in essence supporting their mission with my hard earned cash. Apparently not enough cash, though, to let me communicate with others on the message board.

In the grand scheme of all the crap floating through my life today, this incident is by far the least important. But it sure is amusing. Anytime I'm feeling worthless and insignificant, I'm going to remind myself about the time I was such a big threat to the WLS community that I had to be banished from its midst. That'll save me a few thousand bucks in therapy bills.

Another week slips by...

Busy week for me. My return from Atlanta was uneventful. And sad. I wish I could have stayed longer with Wendy.

My tattoo is infected. It's a Puss-y Pussy Kat. On Thursday I got a prescription antibiotic lotion. On Friday I got oral antibiotics. The tattoo is crusty green, red, painful. My other two pieces NEVER got like this. Saturday night I almost passed out cleaning the thing. YUCK. I'd post a picture, but it would make you puke.

I visited Chicago Sunday and today to check in on my big loser buddy, Mark. The guy's too hard on himself. Open RNY 5 days ago and he thinks he should be dancing around in pumps. But he looks GREAT and his incision is really, really clean.

Dagny and I had a long chat last night while Mark was sleeping. Good conversation. Rather enlightening for me. She's in love with her new body; I'm not in love with mine. She can think of tons of things she likes about herself. I can think of a lot...they all are just followed with a "but". And that made me realize that I just don't even see me as I am now.

When I close my eyes, the person I see is the fat Jen from 8 months ago. And even if I "see" my new face, there's always an aura of "fat" around it. A shadow. Any time I look in a mirror in my bathroom, at work, in a dressing room, I cannot see the real me. But last night, looking at myself in the mirror in Mark's retro pink bathroom, who I saw looking back at me was the me I am now. It was the new me. That happened last weekend when I was at Wendy's too. It's like I can only see me reflected in other people's mirrors. I want to see the new me in my head.

Inkspiration

DISCLAIMER: this post includes pictures of partially clad saggy boobs. Sorry 'bout that.

How does one celebrate the milestone of dipping below 200 pounds? This someone takes her best gal pal to get matching tattoos.

Wendy and I decided we were going to mark my visit to Atlanta and my scale victory with something special. A tattoo. She's a big Hello Kitty fan. I'm all for kitsch. But since Hello Kitty is white (and that doesn't always come out so well in tattoo ink), we opted for Chococat, Hello Kitty's sassy little friend. Good choice.

We went to a shop in Norcross, GA, called Sacred Heart Tattoos. Our tattoo dude was a guy named Eric. He'd actually done a Hello Kitty on a woman before, but hers was in an area I wouldn't consider now, especially since I hope plastic surgery is in my future.

This is my third tattoo and Wendy's first. She was a little worried, as you can see in this pic.



















So I went first. Eric was impressed with my saggy boobs and couldn't keep his hands off of them. Sure, he knew I was a lesbian. But I think he liked the challenge.
















He finally got down to business.














When it was all done, he said I had a nice pussy.




















The final masterpiece:













Although he lusted after my tatas, Eric was floored by how much better Wendy's were than mine.














Before we left the shop, we posed for a photo. Eric himself snapped this classic kitty shot.

1982

As best I can remember, the last time I weighed 198 pounds was most likely in 1982. I would have been a freshman in high school. Fourteen years old.

But I stepped on the scale this morning after a week of scale abstinence and the little electronic reading flashed a solid 198. Not 198.5 or even 198.1. Just 198.

I've lost 119 pounds since August. I can hardly believe it.

Sitting across the table from me is my best friend, way back from the college years. She's seen me at most of my sizes since the age of 20. There's not another peson I'd want to share this with. I trust no one more than Wendy to let me have this moment without prejudgement or expectation, without jealously or disdain. She gives me room to feel safe, sane. She lets me be 198 pounds and be me. I love this woman.

Living with the enemy

When you live in a 15 x 15 room, food is literally always within arm's reach. I sleep 2 feet from the fridge. I watch TV 2 feet from the fridge. At least the toilet is on the opposite side of the room.

I got this place to spend some quality time with myself and to sort my head out after all these drastic, scary, incredible, freeing, exhilarating changes. I didn't think about the fact that I'd be squeezing, shrinking, limiting the space between myself and my next bite of food.

If I'm busy, it's not a problem. But if I'm watching TV, reading, on the computer, I am also thinking about food. What's in the fridge? What's in the cupboard? Should I rearrange it? Do I have enough? Should I go to the cool grocery store and see what else there is?

I feel like someone trying to escape a life of crime, get out of the bad, violent neighborhood--but who instead opts to move into a military war zone, bad, violent and--the worst part--sanctioned by someone.

So here I am. Me, myself and I. And food. Question is, who's the real enemy?

Settling in

Tonight's my first normal night in the apartment. Saturday it was crazy goinginand out getting things set up, etc. Yesterday I drove north for my dad's birthday. But tonight, it's just me and my four walls.

I'm beginning to see that this is the right decision for me now. I've had 2 days of really good eating behaviors...no obsessing, no snacking. In fact, I see now that I'm going to have to make sure that I DO eat.

Today was a bit more stressful with food, though. I'm realizing that sitting at a desk all day with incoming emails, ringing phone, burning projects, sets me up for feeling out of control. And for me, being out of control is a great reason to get in control by controlling my food and eating whatever I want, not just what I need.

OH no!

I just spent the last half hour laughing my ass off at the freakin' weirdos on a messageboard who have nothing better to do than whine and whimper about someone's rant on another website. Big ass babies. Big ass bacon-eatin', pizza-roll-poppin' babies. They sure as hell could be spending their time doing something more productive and worthwhile...like reading my relevant and always entertaining blog. Sheesh.