Does this blog make me look thin?

No?
It should.

Sechs Punkte Fünf
Seis Punto Cinco
Roughly translated? That means six point five.
Pounds.
Gone.

So, I learned a valuable lesson today. And yesterday. It was a two day lesson. Some lessons take longer to learn than others. Some lessons I'm still learning. But this one, I think I've got.

I woke up yesterday, wiped the sleep from my eyes and rolled into the bathroom. I weigh myself first thing every morning. Before gravity has a chance to kick in and air weighs me down. I was up a pound from my gleeful post on Friday. A full pound. And I know what you're thinking: "4 pounds is nothing to sneeze at! What's she getting her knickers in a twist for?" Well, you have to remember, my initial weigh in was at night--with clothes--and I've been weighing myself in the morning, um, clothing optional. So that four pounds will be sucked up by food and clothes faster than you can say Olsen Twins.

Do you know what I gave up this week? A turkey tip sub to begin with. And coffee. And if you know me, you know that giving up coffee is tantamount to giving up oxygen. So when I got on the scale yesterday morning, in all my birthday suit glory, and discovered that I was up a pound from the day before, it sent me into a tailspin. Not a Top Gun your navigator and best friend dies kind of tailspin (that was a flat spin, but I digress). More like a mybodysucksandIhateeverything kind of a tailspin.

And when I woke up this morning, weigh in day, I did the same bleary-eyed trek to the bathroom. It's actually a short trek. Which is good. I am not she-who-walks-with-grace and a long early morning walk with eyes only half open is an invitation for disaster. A good way to fall on both knees (as happened on Saturday) or bump into walls (as happened on Sunday). Any such incident can create a bruise so scary, I'll run to the doctor with the perfect knowledge that I'm dying of some unknown tropical illness.

This actually happened a few years ago. One nurse laughed when I said I was coming to see the doctor for a bruise. She actually scoffed. Then she saw the bruise. She turned several shades of white (oh, yes, there are several shades of white: paste, mayonnaise, Casper. And those are only the ones I've been called on the beach.) and called several other nurses over to see it. "Oh, honey! What happened!?" A perfectly valid question for which I had no good answer. Nothing scares medical professionals more than hearing that you have no good reason for the grapefruit sized hemotoma on your belly. So they rushed me to the lab where Vampira took enough blood from me to feed the cast of Interview with a Vampire. Turns out I'm fine. Diagnosis: klutz.

So, anyway, I stumbled into the bathroom to strip off my clothes in a drunken stupor (oh wait, I gave that up after college. Karma points, baby. Lots of them). Ok, to peel my clothes off in a dreamlike state and step on the scale. Only to learn that I was still up said pound. You.have.got.to.be.kidding.me.

I spent all day in a bad mood. My mood was not improved as my day went on. I find it incomprehensible that the people who need my help at work are not sensitive to the fact that I was having a bad scale day. And kept calling. The day crawled by at a veritable snail's pace. I could not relax until I got on the scale for the "official" number. As I've mentioned before, I've been burned many, many times by the weight watcher's scale. I'd see the scale drop by a good 7 pounds in a week. I'd jubilantly climb up on the weight watcher's scale, expecting a medal at the very least for my efforts, only to hear that I'd lose point something. As in less that a pound. A good trip to the bathroom would produce more weight loss. So, no, I was not expecting great things at my weigh in.

Even so, I did all the right things. Under no circumstances was I going to allow my funk to bring me Dunkin Donuts. I'm pretty sure the siren song of a large iced coffee (milk, 4 splenda) was calling my name this afternoon. I was not going to give in. Instead, I went for my daily walk around the pond at work. It was 90 degrees with 90 percent humidity. But I went around twice. 1.3 miles on the pedometer, thank you very much. I ate my shakes and entrees with zest. Failure is not an option. But even as I tried to fool myself into believing that a measly 1 or 2 pound weight loss would be Ok, I knew it wouldn't be. I knew that seeing that number on the scale would make me cry all the way home. It would anger me so much that I'd want to hit people. It would induce me to yell at the HG for offenses not even yet committed.

I didn't want to go. I didn't want to face that scale. I was not interested in knowing that, once again, my efforts were wasted and yet another diet was going to fail. And more importantly, every pound I don't lose is one more pound keeping me from my babies. Because that's what Frosty and Rudolph are. Just like their twins Chuck and Larry were. My babies. Yes, I suppose if you want to get all scientific and stuff, they're just embryos. Chuck and Larry were the first two we transferred in December. Frosty and Rudolph are the remaining embryos from that first round of IVF. So yes, in my mind I know they're just a mass of cells. But in my heart, they're my babies. I know they're my babies. And they're just waiting till I'm ready. But every pound I fail to lose is one more pound separating me and my babies.(For the record, we don't intend to actually name them Frosty and Rudolph. We're leaning towards Stalin and Adolph.)

But I went. I faced the scale. And it was kinder than necessary. It gave up a full 6 and a half pounds. I'm not sure if the HG called in advance and warned the nurse and the put the fix on the scale. Or if the weight loss gods finally smiled on me. Or if my hard work paid off. I'm not sure. I don't care. I actually suspect God has finally heard my prayers and is helping me do this. He knows I can't do it alone and He knows that I needed motivation to stay away from the Turkey Tips.

Although, right now I could really go for some Cold Stone....
But I won't.
SIX POINT FIVE!

Oh, and the lesson I learned? Relax.