Around the Not-so-Pregnant household, weight loss is more like weight, "I'll think about leaving your body when I'm good and ready, but don't think that you are permanently getting rid of me. I am not lost! I am waiting to be rediscovered." And I so much want to rediscover the satisfying feeling of mindless eating. There is really nothing I like more than opening up a full pantry, rummaging through the contents inside (minus ants, mind you, a feat that the pantry in my new apartment has yet to manage), and grabbing the first piece of fattening, salty goodness I find.
I hate being hungry. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It doesn't help that I work for an organization that is dedicated to eradicating hunger and food insecurity. Do you have any idea how hard it is to diet in a place that routinely uses the phrase, "helping feed the hungry."
How about you feed me? I'm hungry.
I've lost 3.7 pounds to date in five weeks. For the more mathematically challenged, that is less than a pound a week, a.k.a: the slowest weight loss in history. I might have lost a little bit more than that, but I couldn't go to my Weight Watchers meeting this week to be officially weighed. The main problem is that I can't really afford spending $12 a week to get weighed, when, really, they should be paying me for that kind of torture. Kind of makes me want to buy a scale and forgo the meeting part. But, we all know that my self-control isn't at peak performance level, which is how I got to this weight to begin with (that and the 9 pound baby). I neeeeeed to go to the meetings. I've become a Weight Watchers junkie.
Give me another hit of self-love! Someone tell me that I'm a success just because I put down the fudge brownie and made it to the meeting. Someone tell me that drinking more water will increase my energy and pave the way to healthy weight loss. Someone tell me that I need to love myself before I can expect my body to lose the weight. Anyone?
See, I told you it was a cult.