No tenths or hundredths... just flat-out 138.
I should be more excited, because hey, I finally dropped a whole pound after FOUR WEEKS of this 139/ 139.25 stuff (yay!), but because I'm a moron I weighed myself on Monday and was 137.5 then, so now I'm wondering why I gained a freaking half pound.
I know, a half pound fluctuation is well within normal limits. I just wish it had been fluctuating in the downward direction today. Oh well. Good news is, the near-plateau is busted!
Now I just have to figure out what to eat when I'm actually, say, exercising. Because I'm thinking the big reason I haven't seen much movement in the past 8 weeks (just over 3 pounds down) is because during most of that time period I've been exercising more while keeping my food intake right around 1200 calories/ 29 Points+.
By "exercising more" I mean just the mere fact that I've been exercising, by the way. I burn between 1000 - 2000 calories per week with cardio, along with whatever unknown number of calories I'm burning with my 2-3 20-minute resistance sessions a week. Clearly I'm not killing myself here. It's a moderate effort at most. But it's also the one thing that really changed that correlates directly with my weight loss slowing down to a dead crawl.
However, during the past two weeks while I've been marginally out of commission due to The Illness, I've actually lost a pound. Still eating 1200 calories/ 29 Points+ per day. So... I'm thinking I'm going to go up a hundred calories per day (and up by whatever number of points corresponds to that) for the next two weeks and see what that does for me.
And if the scale won't budge, I'll go up another hundred. Like they say, if you keep doing what you've always done, you'll keep getting what you've always got.
In other news, Choreboy is made of awesome. I know this comes as no shock to regular readers of my blog, but he really is.
My refrigerator gave up dispensing water and making ice back some time in 2008. Or it's not so much that it gave up as it is that the water dispenser refused to shut off and poured water all over my floor, and the ice dispenser refused to dispense, which caused the entire ice maker to freeze up... it was ugly. Eventually, we just shut off the water to the blasted thing.
Then last weekend we took it into our heads to clean off the top of the fridge. And by "we" I mean "he" and by "our" I mean "his". During this bit of family fun, his interest in the dispenser was piqued, which resulted in me coming home to a functional water dispenser and ice maker on Monday. Yay! The ice dispenser portion still wasn't working, but only for lack of a part which arrived yesterday, and now we have full functionality for a financial outlay of $40.
Excellent. The man seriously rocks.
And then there are the cats. Three of 'em, to be precise. I brought the cats into the home knowing fully well I was allergic to them, and Choreboy married me knowing I had cats and that he was also allergic to them. What can I say, we're gluttons for punishment. Anyway, allergies must run in the family because the largest of our cats, Daniel, is allergic to fleas. Kind of inconvenient when you're a cat, especially when you live in a house along with a tiny, yappy dog who will insist on going outside to go potty rather than using a litter box like a civilized creature. Even one flea will drive Daniel into a frenzy of scratching and hair loss, resulting in a mostly bald, bloody, pitiful, angry feline. Needless to say, this is unacceptable both to him and to us, so we take the cat in every three months for a steroid shot which helps immensely with the itching.
And this is another time when by "we" I mean "he". Historically, Daniel has made resistance to getting into The Box nearly a pathology. He runs. He hides. He braces himself against the box. He shreds any human attempting to put him in the box into bloody ribbons (did I mention all the cats are fully clawed?). This makes transport somewhat... iffy. And since our vet's office has only limited office hours on Saturday, which is the only day I could get him in (assuming I didn't bleed out in the process), it usually falls to Choreboy to do the deed.
He hasn't needed a transfusion yet.
Monday was The Day for Daniel. He'd actually gone quite a long time without a shot this go-round, due in large part to a change in his diet which appears to have greatly lessened his itching issues. But it's summer, and with summer comes more fleas, so into the vet he went.
And this time. This time, the super-sekrit-cat-whisperer-who-is-my-husband got Daniel into the box without bloodshed.
Not only that, but when they arrived home from the vet's office, Daniel walked right out of the box as calmly as if he did it every day.
Made. Of. Awesome. Truly, I am wowed. And grateful, both for the functioning fridge as well as for the change in The Daniel Cat's behavior. Yay, Choreboy!
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