I love my sleeve. I really do. He's allowed me to lose almost 143 pounds now. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would/could lose weight like this. I'm still a far way from goal, but I'm getting there.

There are some days when I can't eat for shit. Today is one of those days. My restriction is so tight today. I can never predict it. Some mornings I can start with a cup of Cheerios, hit the gym, drink my coffee after and be snacking shortly thereafter.  Then on days like today, I can sit down to eat some steak, get 2 ounces in and be SO full.  Same with lunch. I started in on some chicken, figured I could eat 3 or 4 ounces because I was so hungry. After about 2 ounces, I was done.

I love tight restriction days. It lets me know that my sleeve is still working for me :)



I love jeans.  Love love love jeans.  The only time I can remember not really wearing jeans was after my son was born.  I had an awful c-section, a bad infection from that c-section and just was fat and sore.  So I wore baggy sweat pants like, all the time.  Also, when I was married to my ex-husband, I wasn't allowed to be too feminine or wear makeup because who knows why.  It's a long complicated mess I don't feel like discussing at the moment.  About 10 months after my son was born, I talked my ex into joining Weight Watchers with me.  After losing 45 pounds, I started to wear jeans again, because I could.  And they felt good, and let's face it, they ALWAYS look better than baggy sweat pants do.  Always.

As my weight dropped them climbed then dropped then climbed, one thing remained the same: I never went back to sweats, I always stayed in jeans.  I thought, if I can wear jeans, I must not be as big as I think I am.  I mean, they only make them so big right?  And I'd justify that as my 24's became snug and I needed to go up to a 26.  And when those became too tight, and I crept into 28's, I said the same thing "well, they make them in my size, so I must not be THAT fat".  Bahaha.  Yea, right.

Anyhow, once my weight started to come off after surgery, and my jeans got looser, I decided to keep the pair of my largest ones, so I could always look back at it.  In the photo above?  Size 28's.  The most comfy jeans I have ever owned.  I miss these jeans.  I put them on the other day just to see how they'd fit, and the results were hilarious.  Not only do they not fit, they don't even stay up anymore without me holding on to them. And, I love that.  It shows real progress and this makes me very very happy. Sometimes,when I feel like my weight loss has slowed down, or like I haven't come far, I'll take a photo like this as a reminder that I HAVE come far!

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I have a wicked bad sweet tooth.  Before my surgery and weight loss, I ate sweets every single day.  A typical day would start off with a large iced mocha latte from Tim Horton's. I mean, what washes down a bagel and sausage sandwich better than that? I ate chocolate all the time.  ALL THE TIME. You know those gigantic Hershey bars you can buy? Not the king size ones - those are for amateurs. I'm talking the HUGE bars? I'd buy those, and eat it over two days. Most normal people, or normal weight people, wouldn't do this. But I did. Oh, and let's not forget my addiction to Diet Coke. At least a 2-liter bottle a day consumption habit. At least.

Since my surgery, I've not eaten sweets that much. I have found that since eliminating the artificial sweeteners from my diet (Diet Coke), I don't crave them as much, and also, I've eliminated my migraines, which is awesomesauce.  Those used to be brutal.

Now, when I do want a sweet, it's done in moderation. Take for example my son's birthday party. We used to get those big cakes from the bakery - you know the kind - with that sweet, delicious buttercream frosting on top. And it wasn't a big deal to me to eat 2 or 3 pieces of cake a day. Come on! No wonder I was well over the 300 lb mark just a year ago. This year, we ordered cupcakes. I ate one, and was done. I didn't eat 3 or 4, or more. I ate my cupcake, and went on my merry way.

Saturday was the funeral service, and right behind me, of course, was the dessert table. People brought cookies, and brownies and cheesecake and cupcakes and lord knows what else. To be honest, I never once got up and even looked at the dessert table.  My son grabbed pretty much one of everything. I ate one bite of a brownie, and one bite of a cupcake, and make him throw away the rest. The old me? She would of taken at least two trips up there and stuffed her face, and of course, washed it down with Diet Coke.

Hell, at dinner, I didn't even put a roll, the pasta salad or the scalloped potatoes on my plate. I WANTED to. I really wanted to. But I didn't. I did my protein first and drank water all night. I was incredibly proud of myself, honestly.

I feel like I have come a long way. I know that every so often, I can indulge. Just last week I ate a chocolate croissant from Starbucks. I didn't binge, I didn't go on a rampage and eat a ton, I just added an extra workout into my day and went about my business. It feels good to finally have some control over my diet and my life!

Dear Step-Dad...

Dear Step-Dad,

I still remember the first day we met. It was Christmas. My mom wanted me and my brother to meet you. She invited us to your house for brunch. My brother agreed to go. I decided not to - I felt bad for my dad (wow, the irony, looking back on that now!) Eventually, I decided to come along.

You were so nice. I remember thinking wow, this guy looks like a hard ass. And that's one word people often used to describe you. A hard ass, rough and tough guy. But to anyone that got to know you, you were the biggest, nicest, most kind and loving person I ever knew.

Eventually, we'd get to know you better over the years. You and my mom didn't marry for several years later, but you were always present in my life. I can remember countless times I spent holidays at your house eating dinner with you, or just seeing you stop over after work to give my mom a hug and a kiss. You were always present, which is something that over the years my dad ceased to be.

On my 18th birthday, you sent me 18 roses, and that meant the world to me. When you and my mom married, we all moved in with you, and you didn't have to let me and my brother come; we were both over the age of 18 and old enough to be out on our own, but you took us in because we were family after all.

Sadly, cancer would come into your life, and eventually take you from us. First, your bladder. Then your lungs, then brain. Then just random tumors here and there. You'd go through chemo, you'd go through radiation, and you'd get better. Cancer tried to kick your ass so many times, and so many times you said fuck you. Fuck you cancer, you're not taking me. But last December, with more lesions in your brain, and your lungs, and your adrenal glands, there was nothing more they could do. There was no more treatment options. There was nothing. And slowly, day by day, cancer sucked the life out of you. 

I came to see you the Saturday before your passing. I hugged you and told you I loved you and you told me you loved me too. You thanked me for coming to see you. I am forever grateful I got to tell you I love you one last time.  And then, not even 5 days later, you were gone.

You have left a tremendous hole in my heart. I will forever miss you and love all the time we spent together. Your funeral service was very hard to get through. Seeing the 40-ish Patriot Guard Riders stand outside the church with their American flags to honor you and your service; being presented with a plaque for your service, standing in awe at the color guard, presenting my mom with the flag they unfolded and folded for you - I was in awe. Seeing that tiny church packed with nearly 250 people - I've never been to a standing room only funeral service until now. And its a testimony for how loved and respected you were. 

Fuck you Vietnam War. Fuck you Agent Orange. Fuck you cancer. You took my dad away, motherfuckers.

Feeling gross

Today, I am feeling gross.  It's not because I've lost 135 pounds. It's not because my close don't fit. It's not because I don't exercise.

Today, I am feeling gross because I ate like I did 135 pounds ago. I ate a chocolate croissant for breakfast from Starbucks.  I ate a chocolate chip walnut cookie from Wegmans after dinner.  I feel disgusting with myself.  And I ate today because I am sad and I do not care.

Thursday, at 1am, my step-dad passed away. He struggled with cancer for a long, long time.  In December, he was told there was nothing else that could be done for him. Last Saturday, I saw him for the last time. I hugged and kissed him goodbye and told him I love him.  He told me he loved me too, and thanked me for coming to see him.  I love this man. He treated my mother like gold. He didn't need to let me and my brother come live with him when they married. We were both over the age of 18. He could of told my mother no. But he didn't. He welcomed us into his home like we were his own kids. He treated me like a daughter, not a step-daughter or an intrusion into his home. He always used to say "hi sweetheart" whenever he saw me. I love him and will miss him every single day.  I hope he knows how much of an impact he had on my life.

So today I am sad. And I ate my feelings, and I feel gross. :(


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