Don't get me wrong: I did lose weight. More than 50 pounds, though I hovered closer to 42 pounds lost most of the time. Then last fall someone very close to me died. I emotionally ate my way through my grief, and ended up putting about 10 of the lost poundage back on. During my first IVF cycle last February, Dr. Smiles had me taking estrogen post-transfer, and I put on another 11 lbs. during that cycle alone. When I did the second IVF with no break in between, I packed on 14 more pounds.
I'll do the math for you: that's 35 pounds of the 42 pound loss I'd maintained through most of this process, in just under five months.
But even if that hadn't happened - even if I'd stayed at -42 pounds - I still had a lot more to lose. Anywhere from another 40 pounds (my personal goal) to almost 90 pounds (according to at least one height/weight chart).
Mr. Hope and I knew in January 2011 that we wanted to have a baby. If I'd truly cleaned up my act then, and stuck to it, I could have been at my goal weight by 2013. Hell, I'd have hit the height/weight target by now.
But I didn't.
At times I ate better than others. I'd be super-strict for four months, then suffer some kind of setback in my life (another failed cycle, stress at work, family drama) and I'd fall off the wagon for a bit. And then I'd get back on it, and go strict again, until the next thing threw me into a food tailspin.
In March 2013, for one glorious week, I was only two pounds from the weight listed on my driver's license. And then I blew it.
I could beat myself up about this forever, but it won't change anything and I'm fairly certain it's not interesting to read. So let me skip ahead to the part where I say this:
I'm determined to change these self-defeating patterns of behavior. I have to. Not just because I want to have a baby, but because I don't want to raise a child plagued by obesity and the health issues that accompany it. I see women in the grocery store who are almost twice my size, dragging along kids with triple chins, their carts filled to the brim with processed garbage, and I am disgusted.
But then I think: You're no better. You're still ordering pizza once a week, chomping on chips, eating obscene amounts of chocolate on a regular basis. You're still feeding your feelings.
Normally when I start a new diet or exercise plan, I keep it mostly quiet. Mr. Hope knows, because I kind of force him into eating the way I'm eating (I do the meal planning and make the grocery lists). And the BFF knows, because usually we're entering into whatever new diet or exercise plan together.
But I'm also stating it here, in hopes that making this public declaration will keep me accountable. I'll do progress reports at least once a week, and I will be brutally honest about every single fuck up.
After all, it's time I start being brutally honest with myself, so why not you, too?