We're nearly to June and I've not had a cigarette since March 21st. This is HUGE. Not since my pregnancies have I gone this long without smoking.
In other news, and also coinciding with the "huge"-ness of it all, would be the ever-increasing breadth of my beam; i.e., the weight? She is piling on, folks.
This is frustrating the hell out of me. I know how to lose weight. I've done it before. But right now? HAH.
I'm so freaking tired of counting every calorie, of watching every bite that goes into my mouth. I'm tired of asking myself, "Are you eating this because you're hungry? Or are you bored/ sad/ tired?"
"Wouldn't you rather knit??"
Choreboy keeps making noises about exercise, running, etc.; and in theory we're supposed to be doing these things together. So far it's just noise, though.
And lest anyone think I'm bitching about this, I freely admit that getting off my duff and getting moving is not on my list of way-favorite stuff to do. I'm allergic to sweat. And to movement outside that which is necessary for my survival and that of my children, for that matter.
But I have a size 6 dress to get into in August. I fit into it when I bought it, which was like two weeks before I quit smoking. Shoot, I was actually torn whether to get the size 6 or size 4 (vanity sized though I'm sure those were).
Now I'm afraid to try it on.
How bad would it be to get married in my pink chenille bathrobe? I know that fits...
Skinnytaste Dinner Plan (Week 72)
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