Watch out. Here comes a pathetic vent about something which I logically know is unimportant...but nags at me nonetheless.
Okay, so I know it is December. I probably violated some sort of rule when I tried on my new Modbe suits that came in the mail yesterday. But seriously?! I need to get Jillian Michaels back up in this place and burn that freaking 10 extra pounds off! The sight of my own stomach makes me want to cry. A friend of mine says that my self flagellation is due to me being a perfectionist. My husband agrees with her. I mean really, is 10 pounds more than my self proclaimed IDEAL weight really that important? The BMI charts suggest that I am on the low end of normal weight. The BMI charts clearly haven't seen my severe case of muffin top.
I don't care what other people weigh. I generally don't even notice other people's weight at all unless they are dangerously obese. So maybe I'm a little screwed up. I blame it on spending 27 years of being really, noticeably thin, while eating like a horse. Getting older stinks. Am I being obsessive about 10 measly pounds? Yes, yes I am. I have strong feelings about not letting things snowball. First it's 10 pounds, then it's 20, then the next thing you know you're completely unhealthy. I'm also secretly afraid that my hypothyroid is behind this, and I'll never be 104 pounds again. That would make me sad. I really need to channel some of this angst into action.
Thanks for not calling me a skinny B. I understand that no one really wants to listen to someone my size complain about their weight. It's just...my squishy belly bothers me just as much as someone bigger. A squishy muffin top looks no better in size 2 pants then it does in size 12 pants...trust me. If anything it is more noticeable in the size 2's.
Vent over. Yes, I know it's petty and vain and stupid. I like to keep things honest here.