I have a doctor’s appointment today, so I showered. It was the least I could do. As much as I want to cancel, I know it’s important to have regular check ups. Especially when it comes to the girly gadgets. It’s not pleasant, and I already hear myself apologizing for not having shaved my legs.
In truth though, what I fear, even more than stirrups, is getting on the scale. I don’t fear the number. I don’t fear what I’ll think. I just don’t want to know how much weight I’ve gained in a year. I don’t want to hear observations or tsk sounds. Because I know. Because my pants know. Because my second chin already yelled at the first one today.
I’ll go. But I don’t want to. I might break down and cry about how exhausted I am, but I know it’ll only lead to a blood test, where someone will be hopeful that my thyroid is out of tune. But it’s not. I’m just a lazy snortsnoot. No one to blame but me. I’m three kinds of tired: mentally, physically, and too tired to remember the third. This is not my best day.
Tomorrow I’ll be up at the butt crack of dawn to speak at St. Stephen’s Episcopal School about facing our fears. Not just whining but doing something about it. Ahem. I am many things, but at least I’m no hypocrite. And this time I won’t say fcuk.
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I don’t look at the scale– both when I an thin or when I know I’ve gained. I turn my back to it and tell the tech not to tell me. This keeps me from getting upset about the number. Because like you said– we know when we’ve gained weight. We also know what to do to lose it. There is really no need to know the extent of the damage.
Have courage. You’ll be brilliant tomorrow.
I was too depressed to go to therapy yesterday.
You’re a better woman than me.
Sarcasm really doesn’t translate well in comments! I hope that folks realized I said that a bit tongue in cheek (even though it was true!).
My doc does the TSH every time my weight creeps us, hair seems a bit coarse or when I note a general feeling of droopy poodle (a.k.a. tired).
I’m up nine pounds because of the number of dirty martinis I consume and manfriend who treats to the best restaurants all over town. And dry because I live in the desert that is Colorado in the winter and I adore with a capital DORE hot baths. And tired because of the buckets of night and early morning sex (before racing late to work, grabbing a scone along the way – see: weight gain).
And it’s a-o-effing-kay.
speaking of, how was the south beach diet? i would love to hear about your experience on it. I was feel like the first five days are fine and then i want to eat a bakery. did you lose weight? gain it back quickly? still on it?
There are some days when you just have to let it all go and say fcuk.
Yup. I do the same thing and the nurse is always nice about keeping it to herself. Also? You’re gorgeous. Go get ’em.
Annie, You are a sheep. Stephanie is a good, quick witted writer, but she is far from GORGEOUS and I’m sure she would agree with that.
Wow, that was kind of mean. Giving someone a compliment doesn’t make them a “sheep”, and I don’t think that Stephanie needs you to speak for her, either.
I second Andrea on this one. I think Stephanie would agree she’s not gorgeous? Really? All I can say is, thank you Andrea. And, I hope to be the type of mother whose children grow up KNOWING they’re gorgeous, no matter how they rate on a hot or not contest.
Solution: decline to be weighed! Yes, you can do that. I do it – there’s been no significant change in my clothing so what the heck.
PLEASE tell me where that bedding is from. I love!
I second the request for bedding information! it’s fantastic :)
Found it…pottery barn. Patience is not my virtue.
Hey! So you talked at my school today, st stephens, and I just wanted to say thanks. I love the way you explained how you became so confident and just talked in general. Your the kind of person people aspire to be. I really enjoyed listening to you and can’t wait to read your books!
Boy, do I hear you.
I haven’t stood on a doctor’s scale in years. I just tell them, “I don’t do that” and keep walking.
Once, they said, “But we need to know how much you weigh.” I responded with, “No, you don’t.”
Doctors work for us, we don’t work for them.