Maybe they aren't such little things
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Today is a gorgeous, sunny, warm and breezy day. I'm sitting outside surrounded by accounting books and papers that I am ignoring for just a few more minutes because I'd much rather be doing anything other than my homework. I just finished a perfect iced latte and the sun is warm on my completely exposed shoulders.

You know, I have to admit something completely shallow and superficial right now. As much as my motivation for having this surgery was my health, I am really digging the being smaller thing. I am loving being able to go into Target and pull an adorable dress off the rack and buy it without trying it on, and even more than that, I love that it's an XL from the misses section and it fits perfectly when I get home. I adore the fact that I can finally pull off the adorable pixie cut that my hairdresser gave me because my face is thin enough for it to make me look fey and whimsical. I looked in the mirror the other day and realized that right now, at this particular point in time, I look exactly the way I have thought I should look for years. I'm wearing strapless bras and camisole tops and adorable sleeveless dresses as the weather warms up, and I'm getting compliments galore about them. My wrists have shrunk enough that I can finally wear bangle bracelets again and my watch needed two links taken out to fit right.

In other words, I am reveling in being thinner, in being just like the vast majority of American women.

It is still a foreign thing for me, this fitting into the realm of normal. I no longer get a second glance when I wander into a clothing store, because I can wear the clothes there. I don't have to wonder if I am going to fit into chairs at restaurants, I'm not the biggest girl in the gym when I work out, my legs are crossed whenever I am sitting down because that's what's comfortable, and I feel fucking fantastic. I am registered to do a 4 mile run with some friends in a couple weeks (we have all agreed that it will probably be mostly walking but we will do our best!), I can do yoga without suffocating myself with my boobs and I worked out enough to give my hip an overuse injury.

I admit it, I fucking LOVE being thinner. I loved being me at a bigger size too, but I'd be a liar if I said I didn't love the fact that for the first time our 25 years of friendship, my best friend and I can share clothes. I love being able to buy 4 dresses for the price I used to pay for one dress a year ago. I love not having to find shoes in a wide width, I love being able to wear tank tops on hot days without anyone giving me a second glance, I love getting on the scale and seeing it still going down. I love all of that outside appearance stuff just as much as I love the absence of heartburn and the lower cholesterol and disappearing joint pain.

Sometimes I even love it a little more because damn, it's good to look as hot as I feel.

The lighter side of things
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
When they say your hair is going to fall out they mean ALL your hair. Somehow I did not realize this until one day when I was playing with my arm hair. I've always had longish arm hair, and a lot of it, but it was blonde so you couldn't see it. And I have this habbit of pulling on it when I'm bored. But one day I realized that I could barely grab it because it was so short. And also so sparse. Arm hair all gone!! (It's on its way back now, darn.)

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The gas is neverending. Seriously, there are times when I feel like one of those balloons on the diaper commercial, except my pinhole is releasing gas instead of water. Luckily, mine is usually of the silent and non-deadly variety. Seriously, it's like my butt is just sighing for no reason. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm bordering on incontinence or anything, I'm just not airtight I guess. It's annoying and also weird. (And occasionally, the gas is evil and rivals my husband's. But his is still undefeated in our house.)

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I went running the other day, and when I had packed my workout clothes that morning I had grabbed a pair of capris that I bought in October for the 3-Day. I hadn't worn them for a while, but the last time I'd worn them they were still pretty clingy so I thought they'd be okay. They were kind of loose when I put them on but I decided to go try and run anyway.

Just an FYI: It's really hard to run when your pants are falling off. (And yes, I have purchased new workout pants so I will not moon the innocents anymore.)

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In a related note, you will know it's time to get new underwear when all of yours starts creeping up your but all the time. Or when it starts sagging a little in the back. Those two things seem to happen at the same time though, so just keep it in mind.

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The other night I had a cupcake at a scrapbooking thing (gasp!), and I pretty much instantly became what we have dubbed "sugar drunk"...light headed, goofy, a little heart racing. And then I had a hot flash. My friends were greatly amused by it, and now they all know why I had the surgery because hoo, boy, getting sugar drunk is the reason behind why I DON'T eat 2 or 3 cupcakes at a time anymore. They should just be glad I didn't have a carb crash and pass out on them.

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"You walk a lot faster now," said my husband as we hoofed it around Santa Barbara last weekend. "I don't have to slow down at all."

Damn straight.

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I am trying to fatten up my husband so I can finally weigh less than him. Bastard keeps losing weight too since he's naturally eating healthier since we keep a lot less junk around the house and he eats a lot less drive through food. Oh, and he's almost cut out soda. Last time we checked, I was at 208 and he was at 202.

On the good side, my neck is positively wee compared to his, as are my wrists and fingers.

But my birthday wish for this year is still to weigh less than him. Fingers crossed! Only 2 1/2 weeks to make it happen!

Trying to silence the noise
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Radio silence strikes again. Sometimes I get tired of diving in and mucking about in my emotional dreck, of which there is plenty. And every time I deal with something and walk away from it, I end up finding something new to deal with. So instead of blasting it all over the world wide web I let it ferment for awhile so as to let you all enjoy it like the finely aged liquor it is.

(Oh my god, I am SO LAME. But also amusing myself, because I am easily amused.)

Anyway, I'm at this weird point where I don't know how to classify myself. I'm not the fat girl that I used to be, but I'm not the skinny girl the world thinks I should be. I'm skinnier than some of my friends, but fatter than others. I can buy dresses off the rack at Target without even trying them on, and I don't need to buy any of my clothes at Lane Bryant anymore.

But...I'm still pissed off at the way the world treats fat people. I still get irate about lame fat jokes on sitcoms, and I'm still mentally a fat girl. I look at myself in pictures or in the mirror and I see a relatively average sized woman, but when I look directly at my thighs or my stomach I see giant expanses of flesh even as I am constantly surprised by how tiny my wrists and neck are.

So basically, I don't know where I fit. I have no realistic idea of what size I am anymore and it's throwing me off my game.

I'm going to be a matron of honor again this summer, this time for my best friend's wedding. She and I and three of the other bridesmaids went dress shopping a few weeks back, and I was trying on dresses in a size 16. I have not been a size 16 since I was in high school, so it was new territory for me. But the kicker was that when it came time to order the dress, I ordered it in a size 14 since the wedding is not until August. And I had to be convinced by my husband to order the 14 because I was walking around saying that maybe I should just get the 16 since it fits right now and I only lost four pounds last month. He successfully talked me into the dress, an a good thing too. (And for the record, it's this dress and it is surprisingly hot on me.)

The whole thing makes me exhausted because confusion is hard on my brain. I think maybe I need to just let myself be who I am, where I am without analyzing every fucking thought and emotion that crosses my head. Or at least I need to let myself do that more often, because the moments when I forget to think about everything all the time are the very best times.

In other news, we bought a new car for me last week (yay!!) and we are going to Santa Barbara to celebrate our anniversary this weekend (double yay!!) and life is really pretty damn good.