I stepped on the scale on Sunday and realized that I weigh less now than I have in over 15 months. I'm still just shy of my 10 pound marker, but it's so close I can almost taste it (and it tastes like Bagel Thins, low-fat cream cheese, fresh fruits and veggies, and lots and lots of water).
Easter threatened to derail me this week, with its marshmallows glittering with pink sugar crystals and its jelly beans (but they're fat free!) and M&Ms in rose petal pink and sunny yellow. And despite the fact a 2 year old and a 1 year old don't need ANY candy, they received LOTS OF candy from the Easter Bunny who visited both sets of Grandparents. And in my past life (you know, the one I lived in until a few months ago) I would have packaged all that candy into a Ziploc bag and squirrled it away into the top drawer of my desk and mindlessly plowed my way through it in a matter of a few days.
Instead, I jarred it. I am not kidding....I put the candy into Mason jars (3 large ones, btw, which HELLO! We do NOT need that much candy!). One jar is in my office for visitors. One jar is going to work with my husband. And one jar is in our home, but I can handle it. It's weird: pretty candy in a jar I leave alone, and it takes me weeks if not months to finish it. Proof can be found in the fact that I had to empty one of the jars of last year's leftover Easter candies before I could fill it with this year's. Pretty candy in a Ziploc baggies? Eaten, and fast.
Here's the other thing about keeping candy in a jar: it's VERY hard to pretend you're eating less than you are, because you can clearly see how much the level sinks each day. And with it sitting smack on the corner of my desk in plain view of co-workers and anyone else who stops into my office, I would be embarassed if that level dropped too rapidly. It's like self-control via humiliation. And since I otherwise lack self control, the humiliation factor is vital for me.
But on the flip side of that, I am also motivated by positives. And while I patiently(ish) wait for my jeans to feel looser, I had something else happen this weekend which has not happened in so long, I sadly cannot remember the last time it did.
I got hit on. By a stranger. At a bar.
Now, we are going to brush over the details (including the fact he wasn't exactly the hottest dude in the place), and focus on this: I got hit on. By a stranger. At a bar packed with skinnies and cleavage-bearers and high heels. And not only did he come by once and attempt to talk me out of waiting in line to get in (apparently said bar was hosting a casting call for Big Brother, so they were at maximum capacity and only letting people in when other people left) once, but he came back for a second run. I had to point to my ring and tell him, "I'm flattered, but I'm also married." which...let's be honest married girls...was just about the biggest boost a married mom of two still carrying the baby weight could get.
And it reminded me: I am not the sum of the numbers on that scale. I'm a whole lot of other things, most of them pretty fucking fantastic, and though my road may be long, there's still a lot to enjoy along the way.