On the Weigh Down, Redux

Weight: 167

That's a five-pound loss since my "last straw" entry on July 7. It's amazing how "skinny" I feel at today 167. Three years ago, weighing 134 or so, I would have imagined that I'd crawl into a hole and die if I ever reached the 160s again. This past weekend was a bit of a test for me, as T worked overtime Friday until 10pm and Saturday 2pm-10pm. His being gone that long would usually result in some really awful overeating. I was determined, however, to stay busy and stay out of the kitchen. I didn't actually stay out of the kitchen -- I baked a low-cal cheesecake yesterday -- but I only ate one piece and didn't overeat anyting at all.

When my frustration with my 4-year-old, who was extra cranky Saturday and refused to nap, reached a boiling point, I MADE her go to her room and I tried to take a nap. I think I actually fell asleep for 5-10 minutes. Half an hour later I gave up. She still wasn't asleep, but she was much calmer for the rest of the day, as was I. I didn't get much done this past weekend, which made me feel somewhat anxious and lazy, but I talked myself out of trying to soothe my feelings with food.

We got a post card that our bowling league starts September 9. Oh, goody. Nine more months of humiliating myself every other week. At least I have a very cute Hello Kitty bowling ball with which to embarrass myself.

Look -- I learned how to make a link! Now if I could only figure out post my blogroll.....

Running Out of Time

In a couple of days, it will be the 39th anniversary of my mother's death (mom #1, obviously not my mom who died last fall). She was 31 years old and left behind an 11-month-old and a 4-year-old. When I was growing up, all of my pity was reserved for myself: poor me, my mom died and my dad married an ogre; if my REAL mom were alive she would buy me Calvin Klein jeans; I'm sure if my mom had lived, we'd get along famously...I'm sure you can imagine the rest.

It was only after becoming a mother myself that I felt a huge well of sadness for my mother. Now my pity is all for her. Her own mother died when she was two, so she knew what it would be like for my brother and me. I remember when R turned four -- all I could think about was how much she needed me and that if I died, she wouldn't remember me. If I found out today that I was going to die, knowing that C would barely remember me would be the absolute worst part for me.

I think the anniversary of my mom's death combined with a comment a fellow blogger made (Isabelle) about thinking we will do all of the things we want after we retire, along wtih having several friends and relatives fighting cancer came together in my subconscious the other night to produce the most realistic dream (well, nightmare) that I've had in ages. I don't remember much about it except that I found a lump somewhere, went to the doctor, and was told I had a month to live. I can't even describe the towering rage I felt when he gave me the news. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs, "This is what I get for trying to escape the family curse of cancer! It didn't even do any good!" (In 2001, I had a bilateral mastectomy after finding out I had the BRCA1 gene) I felt such dark despair about leaving my girls.

I think it's definitely time to start DOING some of those "someday" things, so T and I are planning a trip to Disney World. I don't want to put it off and put it off until it's too late.

1,959 Miles and a Revelation

That's how far we drove on our vacation. Wow. It was torturous. We had a good time, though the weather was awful. It was about 99 degrees with 99% humidity the whole time. I would have happily explored Colonial Williamsburg and the Jamestown Settlement for an entire day each, but felt physically ill after only a few hours in the heat. I can't believe I actually used to live in a climate like that and didn't give a thought to living a normal life. I think if I moved back to Austin now I'd have to retire to a couch from June til September. We were so tired of it that we drove straight back home without stopping -- 15 hours. The girls were remarkably well behaved; the individual who invented the personal DVD player is my new hero.

My healthy eating didn't suffer much on vacation. I stuck to salads and grilled chicken for the most part. There were a few times when I had little control over what was served, but I did my best not to overindulge (though my birthday cake undid me for a couple of days). Yesterday was a different story. I've been eating a low GI diet, smaller portions, etc. for a month or so now and feeling really good. Even the week of my period didn't cause any major issues for me. Yesterday was not about feeling deprived or hungry. It was about not dealing with my anxiety in a healthy way, plain and simple. I allowed my feelings to take over and had a regrettable afternoon of eating involving two very large bowls of ice cream, a package of graham crackers, and some peanut butter. I felt really crummy when I went to bed, as well as completely exhausted.

The real eye-opener was this morning. I woke up feeling hungover (I've never actually had a hangover, but this is what I imagine it would feel like), and out of sorts. By 8am I had transformed from a somewhat normal mother into a complete harridan who had lost any and all control over her temper. I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs at my 4-year-old, simply because she didn't like the underwear in which I was trying to force her. I completely lost control and gave both girls a top-volume lecture that the neighbors could probably hear. The rage I felt was unbelievably inappropriate. As we drove off, I took a deep breath, apologized to them for losing my temper, and spent the drive ruminating on what on earth was wrong with me. The only thing it could be was my eating yesterday. Whether I was emotionally unstable because I felt awful that I'd binged or because the sugar and carbs physically affected me, that is really the only explanation I can find for my Mrs. Hyde-like behavior. Wow, was that ice cream so not worth it.