I got on the scale this morning; I have officially lost 90 pounds.
Before you all get excited, I have at least another 50 to go. And then I get to see a plastic surgeon. Because of the skin. Oh internet, the skin. And even after that, I'll have another 20 to 30 pounds to go. I'm not all the way there, but I'm getting there.
Anyway, my highest weight was at Griffin's first birthday -- I had packed on 65 pounds from the pregnancy and another 10 breastfeeding. Obviously, my boobs don't work right.
Neither does my metabolism.
When I was a baby, I was very sickly. Once I turned five, I got a lot better. But I still got sick a lot. Otherwise, I was a pretty average kid. Not much motivation physically, but I got straight A's.
Puberty came and fucked me all up.
Knowing what I know now about genetics and Celiac Disease, I am really a normal textbook case. When you are five and again during puberty a lot of your genes turn on and off (this is why most kids outgrow eczema by the time they are five). The theory is that during these times, allergies can also be turned "on and off."
Hitting 13 sent my world into a tailspin. The weight piled on (and considering the way my step-monster "cooked," it should be no surprise; the human body wasn't made to live on Hamburger Helper alone) and I got really sick. Not so sick that I couldn't go to school and function, but sick enough not to be happy and know that something was wrong.
By the time I was a senior in high school, I weighed quite a bit. After the holidays, I joined a well-know weigh-loss clinic and lost 60 pounds in four months. Then I got really sick.
Constantly going to the hospital sick. Constantly getting tested sick. It took two years for my doctor to do a MRI on my entire body. I had an ovarian cyst the size of a grapefruit.
Instead of doing anymore testing, I was cut open six weeks later -- and the cyst was gone. A year later I got referred to an excellent OBGYN who diagnosed me with PCOS. I was put on glucophage and I've been much better ever since.
But better didn't equal healthy. I was still sick. I got referred to an alternative doctor; I went through a lot of testing -- some of the results required a couple of weeks of treatments, others were years long. The one outstanding problem I have is Wilson's Syndrome, which is a thyroid disorder.
Those two diagnoses should have been enough to get me up to healthy. Following the regimes made me a lot better, but I still didn't consider myself healthy.
Getting my allergy results in October was a huge relief -- I was allergic to wheat (and for the record, I have not officially been diagnosed with Celiac Disease. It is very rare to have a wheat allergy and not have celiac; furthermore I didn't want to go through the time and expense of two years of testing when I already knew I'd have to eat a wheat-free diet, eating gluten-free is no more difficult. And the only way to treat a wheat allergy and celiac is to follow the proper diet).
Over the past three years, I have been working my ass off (literally), trying to lose weight. Going gluten-free has magically transformed how my body processes food -- which should be no surprise, since I am allergic to wheat.
My body is changing a lot lately, and everyone's taking notice. My typical response is, "I know! I have a neck! WHO KNEW?!"
I've giving my background history not to excuse my fat-ass-ness, but to discuss women and weight in our fucked-up society.
It has been going around the past few weeks (like weight is ever really far from people's minds, anyway) about how everyone feels fat. One person felt like a failure because she was a size eight, and was a size two when she got married; her husband told her it was like she broke a promise to him, she was not the woman he had married. Another person keeps a daily record of her exercise and calories on her blog; she's upset if she eats more than 800 calories in a day.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Why, as a society, do people worship these prepubescent waif children? Why are the young and rail thin our ideal of perfection?
Personally, I love my hips. I love my boobs. I love my strong arms that can pick up my 40-pound and a 32- pound children at the same time. I love my muscular thighs that can chase them around the house, yard and park. I love my lungs that can scream at them to stop! back up! and hands off! I love my knowledge as a woman, it is much more well rounded than that of a child.
I'll likely never be a size that is a single digit. And I'm okay with that. I can run up a flight of stairs without being out of breathe, and that's pretty damn awesome.
We need to get some perspective of what's healthy.