Ugh. Weight loss. Could there be a less appealing topic? I’m avoiding sweets, I’m eating healthy, I’m exercising, blah blah blabbity blah.
I’ve had five pounds to lose for the better part of a year and I’ve only made marginal, half-assed attempts at doing so. Mostly because it was no big deal. Who cares if I have an extra five pounds on me? I’m gonna put a baby in there soon anyway, so may as well enjoy myself!
Yeah, well, the baby thing ain’t happening, so perhaps the weight loss thing needs to now.
I know being five pounds lighter is not going to fill the baby-sized hole in my heart. But it doesn’t hurt to start feeling better about yourself—even if it’s in the most superficial way possible. My hope is that feeling a little more fabulous in my clothes will boost my self-esteem a smidge. And then doing a little bit more activity will bring on the happy hormones. And then all of a sudden perhaps, maybe, the cloud will begin to lift a little.
There have been some bright spots in an otherwise dark time. My son is being adorable. My husband is being his awesome, supportive self. But I still feel myself slipping out of conversations and drifting off into a place of self-pity and remorse. It’s going to take some time. It’s going to be a bit until I’m fully present. I don’t really feel like talking or thinking about this stuff anymore. So I’m relishing in those bright spots and waiting for time to pass. In the meantime, I could use a nice distraction.
And if anything can distract you from unhappiness, it’s adding a whole other thing to be unhappy about to your life. (At least, a whole other thing that has nothing to do with grief—except perhaps the loss of gorging yourself on your favorite foods. Goodbye, night cheese! Sniff, sniff.)
So byebye, five pounds. Byebye, baby dreams. And byebye, night cheese. I’ll miss you guys. I won’t, however, miss not fitting in my jeans.