So I'm all suddenly and, heh, inexplicably bummed out. I was up until way past one last night and that is completely unlike me (I normally go to sleep with the chickens).
Three things are bothering me. Maybe four. (Maybe one?)
I got a new scale yesterday. A $5.99 special. Because my other scale mysteriously died on me after, heh, a decade. And this freaking new scale says that I am a good (and by that I mean not-good), fifteen pounds heaver than my previous, now deceased scale. FIFTEEN POUNDS. That means, I am fifteen pounds fatter than the fifteen pounds I already KNEW were making me fat. And that, my math-y friends, adds up to thirty pounds of too much fat.
I cried. I swear to science. Worse, I cried in front of Trinity, the daughter I am trying-trying-trying so hard to convince that physical appearance is not everything. I cried and wailed, "I hate being fat! I don't want to be fat!"
I failed as a mother. I'm going to make poor Trinity as crazy about weight and appearance as Iwas am.
Trinity was already all distraught that the new scale took her from the 107 pounds she thought she weighed to a 122 that upset her. And I missed an important Teaching Moment in that instead being wise and passing on some kind of non-eating-disorder wisdom, I freaking sat down and cried.
I suck. I fail as a mother.
***
Another thing? I've become bizarrely convinced that I have some weird disease. I know! I normally don't do that. But for years I've had this horrible intensely itch palms of my hands, soles of my feet thing. Especially at night. And although I've googled it before, when I googled it the other day I came up with PBC (I superstitiously refuse to even link it) and this would also explain my hideously distended abdomen and blah blah blah I'm convinced now that I'm probably going to idk, die. 'Cause of the no-health-insurance thing and stuff.
Omg.
I'm making myself crazy.
***
Crap. I don't have time for the other two things. The way big main horrible things. The things that trump even, heh, death and obesity.
Let me try to resume this later.
Three things are bothering me. Maybe four. (Maybe one?)
I got a new scale yesterday. A $5.99 special. Because my other scale mysteriously died on me after, heh, a decade. And this freaking new scale says that I am a good (and by that I mean not-good), fifteen pounds heaver than my previous, now deceased scale. FIFTEEN POUNDS. That means, I am fifteen pounds fatter than the fifteen pounds I already KNEW were making me fat. And that, my math-y friends, adds up to thirty pounds of too much fat.
I cried. I swear to science. Worse, I cried in front of Trinity, the daughter I am trying-trying-trying so hard to convince that physical appearance is not everything. I cried and wailed, "I hate being fat! I don't want to be fat!"
I failed as a mother. I'm going to make poor Trinity as crazy about weight and appearance as I
Trinity was already all distraught that the new scale took her from the 107 pounds she thought she weighed to a 122 that upset her. And I missed an important Teaching Moment in that instead being wise and passing on some kind of non-eating-disorder wisdom, I freaking sat down and cried.
I suck. I fail as a mother.
***
Another thing? I've become bizarrely convinced that I have some weird disease. I know! I normally don't do that. But for years I've had this horrible intensely itch palms of my hands, soles of my feet thing. Especially at night. And although I've googled it before, when I googled it the other day I came up with PBC (I superstitiously refuse to even link it) and this would also explain my hideously distended abdomen and blah blah blah I'm convinced now that I'm probably going to idk, die. 'Cause of the no-health-insurance thing and stuff.
Omg.
I'm making myself crazy.
***
Crap. I don't have time for the other two things. The way big main horrible things. The things that trump even, heh, death and obesity.
Let me try to resume this later.
Leave a comment