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Sunday, March 2

March On...

 It’s March. That means big fun for this lap-band gal. It also means looking back on it all, reflecting and learning, and moving forward. Life keeps going on. My kids have their activities, my husband and I have our milestones and anniversaries, my job continues, my friends keep me grounded. Nothing in that respect has changed, it is a continuum that never changes. But I change every day.

Tuesday is the big UNO. In my last post I said I wanted to lose a final three lbs before this first bandiversary, but looking forward two days I don’t think it is gonna happen. Actually, I know it won’t unless I subject myself to a diet of air molecules for two days and then, what is the point? I might see the number, but I will be empty inside, not full and thriving, not using what I’ve learned, the scale will have control and I will not. And, sorry for the TMI but Mother Nature’s timing really sucks. So really, and I say this to convince myself as much as you, I’m going to try and not worry about the number on Tuesday and instead think about every little step along the way this past year. Events big and small that brought me to this very place. A happy place.

Tuesday is also Mardi Gras. As a Catholic this means a day of feasting and celebrating before the long fast ahead. Since my family practices, I couldn’t have timed it better if I tried, it’s almost cosmic how my one year falls on Fat Tuesday, and I plan on rejoicing with my husband and kids that night and not worry about counting every little morsel that I put in my mouth. Wednesday begins Lent, and that means a time of sacrifice and repentance. A fresh new start and a reset.  We put ourselves in the shoes of those that go without, to mimic the good work of the Lord. It is a time to open our eyes and see.

Every day I see a reminder of why I am here. Literally, why I am HERE. Every emotion is clear to me. And why I had surgery a year ago even though everyone was scared and didn’t think I was fat enough and thought I could probably do it on my own. Because now I am here, and I can breath and I am alive.

And it hasn’t been easy. In fact, I got stuck today. It was the first time I was stuck in public, in a Steak n’Shake bathroom no less.  One French fry too many, or maybe the crust of my half-eaten Frisco Melt? Who the hell knows. I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing and I got a smack on the hand for it. It was painful, and gross, and I did what I had to do which is bend over in the stall not touching anything and cough it up. And then it’s back to real life, just like that. Wipe your mouth, wash your hands, and go back to being Mom. But has it been worth it for twelve long months? The side effects? The pain? The embarrassment?


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