I'm too fat for my pajamas.

I’ve been putting something on the back burner for a year. Funny that I would choose a food-related analogy to explain my total and complete ignorance of my weight.

Years ago…before Alex was even a twinkle in my eye, I ballooned up to ridiculous proportions. I was traveling for work, had a $45/day food allowance and evidently thought I needed to spend every dime. I lost of few pounds, but then we decided to have a family and I decided to eat cheeseburgers throughout my pregnancy.

After Alex was born, I had a new responsibility to be healthy. I joined Weight Watchers, started running, and lost 32 pounds in three months. I kept it off until we decided we needed to expand our family and my waistline. After Meredith was born…TWO YEARS after, I got on the scale and realized I once again had weight to loose. Only this time it was 40 pounds.

I did, only to gain 45 back after a year. I have no excuse this time. No pink or blue bundle to hold. No new tiny footprints stamped in a book. I was just pure lazy and I simply love to eat. Waaaaay more than I should. This is probably the only time I’ll say this, but Oprah and I have something in common.

I’ve known for awhile I had to stop avoiding the scale, living in elastic-waist pants and doing weird stretches to make my jeans fit. The last few weeks showed me it’s more than fitting into my clothes. I did a photo shoot with Robyn and her family in the NICU. I was nervous…really nervous. After the session, I went into the lobby and proceeded to have a giant, gushing nose bleed. (I’ve talked about this so much, I feel as though I may have mentioned it on the blog. If so, forgive me for telling the gory story twice.) It was my first clue that I was really, really fat and my blood pressure was out of control. I’ve also noticed how heavy my legs feel and that my feet and ankles hurt way more than a 32 year old’s ankles should. It’s ridiculous. Especially when I’ve been blessed with really great health otherwise and I have several friend’s fighting serious health battles.

I made up my mind last week, that Thursday would be the day I dragged myself back to the fat farm. The only meeting that works with my schedule is a Thursday 9:00 a.m. weigh in. It is also the only meeting that works for women in their 70’s who stop by on their way to water aerobics at the Y. The woman that weighed in front of me had gained weight. Two ounces to be exact. She had bulked up to 102.8. Seriously. That’s who I had to weigh in after.

Sweating, because the heat was blaring to accommodate the bridge club set, I stepped on the scale and nearly had a stroke on the spot. I weighed what I did when I delivered my children. I was ashamed and mad at myself. After failing to make the weigh-in lady laugh with my self-deprecating comment, I looked at her hoping she would say something encouraging. Instead, she looked at my Lifetime Member goal weight and said, “Yep. You gotta good ways to go.” Tough love from Weight Watchers.

I trekked back out to the car knowing I’m in for a good year of counting points and drinking seven gallons of water a day. I know I’m going to have to get back on the treadmill. I also know I’ll feel 100 times better when I do.