Yep, relieved about sums it up. Honestly, I haven't been eating like someone who's trying to lose weight recently. My activity was spot-on for the week, though, and that's what saved this weigh-in to any degree despite what I crammed down my gaping maw.
I've reached that point where I'm bored with my food again. This time, it seems to be my lunch that's really getting to me. Breakfast is good, dinner is good, snacks are usually okay (yes, usually... some issues there although it's not the worst of it), but lunch?
Nope. There is no way that eating a Chipotle burrito bowl two times in two weeks equals a good choice for someone trying to lose weight, especially not when combined with an outing to McDonald's, a Cuban sandwich, and 2 oz. of Dirty Potato Chips Black Pepper and Sea Salt flavor. Again, I didn't consume this all in one day, but it's still not sane.
Don't ask me about the cookies-and-cream-cheese bars. I'm not talking. See veiled snack references above.
In spite of all this I'm at 138, which all things considered is good, and arguably maintaining. It's not goal, though, and I'd really like to see 130. I've got a new lunch plan which should take care of some of the cravings (must. have. peanut. butter. NOW.), so it's full speed ahead.
Mammogram results are back and normal. My re-scan on the ovarian issue is at the end of September. Meanwhile, I'm able to give myself numerous diseases and dire conditions (curse you, Doctor Google!), so the rational part of my brain is torn between trying to ignore the fact that I feel like crap (Silly Amanda, you're just talking yourself into feeling lousy!) and trying to explain to the anti-malingering gene that I really do feel sick (Really, Amanda, just because you're capable of talking yourself into feeling sick doesn't mean you aren't legitimately ill).
I spent Saturday de-fleaing the house. Choreboy washed Teddy and put the flea meds on him Friday, so Saturday the Elder and I cornered all three cats and managed to get their flea stuff on them with zero bloodshed. Score! Then we locked down the cats and sprayed the bedrooms, followed by intensive vacuuming. After that, we moved all the cats into one of the flea-free bedrooms and poisoned the rest of the house, after which more vacuuming ensued.
I came close to freaking out when the Elder said later on that evening that he'd found a flea, but he followed it up quickly by saying it was dead. I tell you, four furry housemates in Florida during high flea season? Not fun for any of us.
Sunday I couldn't face the treadmill so the boys and I headed out for an 80 minute hike at one of the local nature preserves. The Gum Zombie spotted an alligator so he was tickled. That got my heart rate up (we were on a path called "Alligator Alley" during nesting season -- what was I thinking?), and it stayed up until we were well away from all vaguely swampy areas. Now I have shin splits because I'm so accustomed to the treadmill that I completely overestimated my ability to walk on normal ground. Genius.
But it was a good end to the last, perfect summer. This was the last year my boys were able to attend the same summer program because the Elder ages out once he turns 13. And he's not yet hit puberty big-time, so he and the Gum Zombie are still my little boys. But the hair over the Elder's upper lip is darkening, and I was just looking at our vacation pictures from last year and noticing how much older both boys now look.
My babies are growing up. They're supposed to, so it's all good. I just feel a little... lost. I'll snap out of it, but I miss my little boys. And I hated to see the summer end.
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