Talking weight loss pants.....

Dear Mother Nature,
I'm not sure if you got the memo... but it's almost October now. It's Fall, which means that we should be getting out the sweaters, long pants, and other garb that makes us fat people more comfortable. I don’t think I should be having to tell you this, but this 100 degree weather isn't going to fly and you need to knock it off. This girl doesn’t wear shorts (the world thanks me for it) and isn't a friend to sweating like a pig on the way home while I am begging my AC to start working. Cool it, kapeesh?
Thanks!
Your friend with plenty of built-in insulation,
Jess

Great, now that THAT's out of the way... Geeze. I get the feeling that maybe I am living in the wrong state.

My weight loss journey has been... how do you say.... TUMULTUOUS.  Yes, that is a good word.  Like many of us excessively fluffy, I am continuously surprised at how many ways I can come up with to hate myself!  Completely by accident, I assure you... But even 9 months after baby #2, I am still stuck in my maternity clothes because for the life of me, I can't get my socks on unless I unbutton my pants!

I think I also heard somewhere that when you're trying to lose weight that your NOT supposed to weigh yourself every day... well, I was never much for rules and I think that's a big part of my problem.  I weigh myself every day and have to constantly fight the urge to snack...I even wanted to chow down on some leftover scalloped potatoes and RESISTED for the sake of my fragile and emotionally broken pants who, if could speak, would say "Jesse, aplease!" (Completely imaging that my pants would speak in an Italian accent if they ever could...) "Jesse, aplease! Whaddya doina to me!?!?" This is going to be the next big thing in weight loss... you heard it here first, folks! Talking Weight Loss Pants! That's right... so that every time you sit down, they cry out "Mama mia!" We could even take it a step further and skip the dialogue - a simple air horn would suffice. Maybe even they would program them so that when you came within a certain radius of a fast food restaurant they go off... Someone is going to make millions.

It takes a lot of gumption to come back from the huge hole I've dug myself in.  That's right, folks, I, Jesse Forrest, dug the Grand Canyon of weight loss holes!  I have been looking into bariatric surgery to help me lose weight and at my orientation, I weighed in (for the first time in a very very long time) at THREE HUNDRED AND FOURTY POUNDS.  I just need another moment to wrap my head around that.  340.  I remember when I was younger how I vowed to my parents that I would never weight more than 200.  I have so many feelings about this, shame.  Regret.  Anger, oh the overwhelming anger among so many other things and the thing is - I don't even have a big shovel with which to dig myself into this mess. 

We are encouraged, as the fluffier of the species to love ourselves.  Love our bodies, no matter what they look like and EFF TRADITIONAL BEAUTY STANDARDS.  Yet, we are faced every day with people who would shame us for being large.  We are told that we're disgusting and lazy.  Every one of us has heard, at some point, "Why don't you have an apple instead?"  We are glared at when we put anything in our mouths.  We can't walk down the street without being sneered at and laughed at for the clothes we wear, although - finding clothes that fit and flatter us is a near impossible feat as we are forced to purchase everything online and pray that it all fits well.  We will end up shipping more than half of it back along with our arms and our legs because that's what it costs to clothe all of this booty.


Aside from the constant negative outside influences, we have our own battles that are dealing with as well.  Because of my weight, I have developed a crippling case of plantar faciitis - which means any amount of weight I put on my feet sends horrible shooting pain up my legs.  Cute shoes?  Oh, that's nice, I'll stick to my basic black sneakers with extra insoles that make it at least bearable to walk.  No, they don't look particularly snazy with my dress but I don't have a choice.    And that's IF and ONLY IF I find enough courage to wear said dress as more often than not my ankles swell horribly by the end of the day and it looks like I am trying to smuggle illegal watermelons in my feet. 


At 340 lbs I had to look at my life.... a little boy who is almost 7 and struggles greatly with his weight because of me.  A 9 month old baby who looks at me with those huge blue eyes as if to beg me to stick around.  My husband and I - who had every single meal in front of the TV and making up for the fact that we skipped breakfast by eating way more than we should for dinner.  Plus, ICE CREAM!  WHOO HOOO! 


Sure, I ate whatever I wanted.  My feet being in so much pain gave me an excuse to sit on the couch and stuff my face at every opportunity.  Was this happiness though?  Was this living?  I could barely walk myself to bed at night and at 34 years old.... what would my life be like in 10 years?  340 lbs. 


340 lbs. 


This is not living.  This is not happiness.  This is miserable and though nacho cheese can give you an immediate relief of that pain, in the long run, yes, it is killing me.


340 lbs and my Italian pants are crying in a corner "How coulda you doo eet?"


Time to start making some goals.  Time to start making some SENSE.  I CAN'T BE FUNNY AND MAKE PEOPLE LAUGH IF I AM DEAD, CAN I?

So here we are.  Back to square one and it's a lot smaller than I remember it for some reason.   340 was only a week ago.  Here we go!