My Skinny Jeans

The last time I went shopping for clothes I bought a pair of jeans that were a bit tight.  I've worn them a few times and the last time, about 10 days ago, I was able to wear them all day with relative ease and comfort.  Mainly they looked pretty good.

For the record, they aren't cut like "skinny jeans" they're just 3 sizes smaller than my other jeans and therefore have become my skinny jeans.

Today I took them out of the dryer and did the tight-jeans-dance.  I tugged them on and ran out the door wondering if I'd gained weight.  Of course, for the record, I've lost 7 more pounds since the last post. (YaY me!)

By the time I'd gotten to work I'd worked through the tightness of heating the fabric.  Jeans are always tight when they come out of the dryer.  I stopped in the ladies room and guess what... I have a saggy butt in my skinny jeans.

If I wasn't making an effort to lose weight I would be upset by this.  That means I'm a no-butt-having skinnier chick.

I can see the weight dropping all over.  I am pleased with the results.  My first week in the program there was a guy who said he would like to be done by, "this Friday."  He's moved on to Phase 2 which is good for him.  He lost 44 pounds and is no longer on any blood pressure medicine.

I had to deal with a huge emotional issue.  When Phase 1 was complete for the rest of the class, I was left behind.  They were saying their farewells and I was left to feel like a big fat failing failure.  Yesterday I walked into the class and Alfred was still there.  Bless his sweet little heart.  He and his wife came to the class every Wednesday night during the first Phase 1.  Bless her sweet little supportive heart.  I walked up to them and smiled and told them how happy I was to see them.  I was so glad not to be alone anymore.

So, I've lost a total of 63 pounds and I'm still losing.  I'm not perfect but if anything, this process has taught me that I don't have to be perfect.

I started seeing a counselor and she asked me if I knew who or what I wanted to look like when I'm done.  I don't know.  I don't have an image.  Numbers, though arbitrary, are finite. They define a very specific goal.

I suppose I've spent my entire life being me.  As part of "being me" I had to stop comparing myself to other women.  So in the next week I am going to come up with an image similar to what I want to look like without consideration of where my tits will likely end by the time I'm done.

I hope my mom hasn't started a pool at the democrats' office.  I can see it now, "Okay, Megan, you think they'll end 3 inches above her waist?  And Seth?  You think they'll end 3 inches above her knees?  What about you Hillary? Zak? Are you in?"

Just that this is a possibility in my Mom's personality makes me love her even more.