Tag Archives: weight

They give souvenirs now.

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My MRI was today… and after they made me strip naked and dress in scrub pants that were 3 sizes too small and double hospital johnnys that were 12 sizes too big, they did their thing on my knee.

A solid half hour of cacophony later, I got a souvenir.

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I know they give you ultrasound pictures of your baby in utero, but I’m not sure I’ll be having a look at all the fluid on River’s knee reveal party anytime soon.

And yes, though I’ve gotten the swelling down with elevation and ice packs, there’s still a lot of fluid where fluid shouldn’t be.

Good news? No torn ligaments and minimal damage to my MCL.

Yay!

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Bad news?

My meniscus tear is a deep root tear which is more serious, slower to heal and could require surgery.

Boo.

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But I did a zoom meeting with my orthopedist when we got home and she said we’ll try to avoid that.

More ice, more exercises and a cortisone shot next Friday to speed up healing so I can do more load bearing.

Load bearing? I know I’m a bit overweight, but that seems a trifle harsh.

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Treasure is in the eye of the beholder.

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If it’s rusty, weighs 600 lbs and doesn’t work? I guarantee you my husband will love it.

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Like this old cash register he brought home from the dump years ago. No, not the fancy, scroll worked, shiny brass kind from the the turn of the century… the ugly ass, flat black, base metal one they used at gas stations and feed stores in the 40’s and 50’s.

What’s that?

Your husband takes things to the dump? How nice for you.

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Mine brings home broken things other people don’t want.

Does he clean/fix/repurpose them for use… or even as decorative items? No.

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But when they need to be moved, the man painting our barn has to be enlisted to help.

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Heavy?

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Just a bit.

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But after much huffing and puffing it was plunked down on that other ton of fun in the big barn.

Though why the floor didn’t give out from underneath them I’m sure I don’t know.

Pandemic humor.

 

Because laughter is the only contagious thing I want to catch.

 

 

That sounds about right.

 

 

We didn’t.

We really didn’t….

 

 

I’m all for this.

As hard as lock down has been, there are some people I’ve been quite happy to avoid.

 

 

I could totally rock that look.

 

 

Yeah.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had it with the conspiracy theorists.

 

 

 

That’s so wrong.

 

 

Tight pants.

A pandemic symptom I can totally relate to.

Which brings me to the new anthem for the Covid age.

Sing it sister!

 

I hate to report this….

 

But the ever dwindling woodchuck family is now down to three.

 

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Momma chuck and two children.

 

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The sextuplets are now twins.

 

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And even more outnumbered by the starlings than ever.

 

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But they’re growing quickly and packing on the pounds for winter.

 

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So much so, it’s getting hard to distinguish them from their mother.

 

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Until…

 

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She stands up.

 

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No doubt about it then.

 

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Does anyone know where I can get a woodchuck girdle?

Asking for a friend.

Diet is a four letter word.

 

I used to be one of those blissfully happy women who never worried about their weight.

I’ve never been rail thin mind you, but I was a fit child, a coltish pre teen, a slim teenager and a curves in the right places adult. I wore whatever was in fashion and if I don’t mind saying so…. rocked it.

Then I turned 30 and gained 10 pounds. No biggie, I’m short but I could carry it.

 

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I turned 40 and gained another 10 pounds.  Hmm… had to rethink those crop tops and short skirts, but okay.

 

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When I turned 50? Only 5 more pounds… I figured I’d reached my leveling off point.

 

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Then…. after a medical issue made a full abdominal hysterectomy necessary and I was thrown into menopause? I gained another 15 pounds. That put me in the “Hooray! Long loose tops are back in style and where do I find that Jane Russell 18 hour bra?” category.

WTF? My body was in revolt. Food was no longer my friend!

I dieted,  I cursed my womanly existence, I exercised, I swore like a longshoreman,  I drank the equivalent of friggin’ Lake Erie in water every day and nothing happened. I tried low fat, low carb, I gave up every delicious thing I could think of (except alcohol because… well, geesh. I had to have a reason to live.) But still the weight didn’t come off.

To be honest it drove me nearly crazy for 2 years until I said …..

 

 

Life is too short to never eat bread. And cheese. And every other wonderfully fatty high calorie thing I’d been denying myself. (Come to momma cappuccino mousse trifle… I’ve missed you!)  If my body wanted to be  round,  voluptuous,  larger than it was, then who was I to argue.

So I bought bigger pants. Hell, I have bunions and had to buy bigger shoes, so what…. it was another excuse to shop.

 

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Yes, I miss thin. Not everyday mind you  (thank you yoga pants!)  but when I have an event like a wedding, or funeral, or horror of horrors… a class reunion where there are people I haven’t seen in 20 years?  It drives me to drink.  No, I won’t be unrecognizable from my former self, but I’m always conscious of the difference. And women are famous for beating themselves up about that. Men embrace their beer bellies and proudly pat them. Women try and squeeze their muffin tops into torture devices called Spanx.

Oh, well… such is life.  It took me a while, but I’ve learned to embrace the larger version of myself. I may not always love her, but I’m healthy and happy…. and in the end, isn’t that much more important than squeezing into a smaller size?

 

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And exercise? Okay, you got me.

It was never my strong suit.

 

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