Life. It’s beautiful; it’s complicated; it’s amazing; and it’s hard.
In all honesty, I have a rather easy life. I’m sure there are millions of people who would take my problems over their own. Still, I will struggle; I will fight; I will want to give up when I’m in the middle of a life challenge. The only way to grow is to continue. What doesn’t kill you, blah blah blah, right?
So here I sit, with my own first world problems, trying to figure out the next step. Should we move? When should we go? Do I help Dad out enough with Mom? Do I want to leave the area while she’s still hanging on to her life with all that she has? Should I continue with WW? Is it money well spent now, or wasted? Could I do this weight loss thing on my own? Am I accountable enough?
Petty problems, eh? It’s all I’m willing to share right now. And really, that’s what is on my mind the most these days. And anything relating to my mother and anything relating to my weight loss journey. It’s getting to the point that I can’t seem to think about anything else without it circling back to those two things. Hubby came home the other day to tell me he is on the short list for a new job, in a new city, for more money. Three things he’s been working towards for a while now. We like the feel of where we live. It’s a tiny town in mid-western Ontario. The people are nice; we love how Monkey #1 seems to know everyone (he’s such a people person. People naturally gravitate towards him); we like how close we are to my parents. We love how our kids have gotten to have my parents in their lives the way that they have. Grandma and Grandpa are not those people who you see once or twice a year for my boys. Instead they’re those people who are at every soccer game, every school concert; they sing “Happy Birthday” the loudest, they go to the park; there’s weekly sleepovers, built in babysitting and random drop in’s for coffee or tea. My parents have a big role in my boys’ lives. At least, they did. Until mom got this sick. And these reasons are enough to make me toss and turn in my sleep over moving. Hubby and I want to move. We’re craving change. The thought of moving to a big city (Hello, Nation’s Capital) has us giggling with hope and anticipation; but what about mom? We would be far away from her. I couldn’t help dad as much. What if, after she passes, dad decides to stay here? He’d be all alone. No family around at all. I hate that idea. Of course, I think it would be easy to convince him to move out our way, if we end up in the city we’re looking at. We have family very close to there. His family. There are other little things about a possible move that have my mind spinning. I think I might be over thinking it all.
Lately my weight loss journey has been sitting heavy on my mind too. I haven’t been able to put my finger on what’s bugging me about it. I’m content with how I’m eating. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything (except for daily chocolate. I would love daily chocolate. But it’s a trigger food for me. I can’t have just a bite and be happy. So it’s a weekly treat instead). I’m still happy at the gym. Even on those sluggish days where I don’t want to go, I head out anyways and come back feeling much better. I’m still learning how to fuel my body correctly; I’m still learning how to work myself into shape; and I’m still enjoying it. Every week I’m weighing myself, measuring myself and watching those numbers go down. Unfortunately when I look in the mirror, I don’t see the changes. Hubby says he’s noticing big changes in my body. I see the double chin even more now. I see the big belly and super wide hips. My thunder thighs have never looked bigger. Where did my ankles go? I can kind of see them, they aren’t full on cankles, but still. Am I finally seeing what I looked like all this time? I know when I looked in the mirror before, I did not see the me everyone else saw. I saw the me I wanted to see. Has the wool finally been pulled from my eyes? Or am I seeing extra flub now? I just don’t feel comfortable in my own skin right now. It’s a horrible feeling. Thankfully I know if I continue on my journey, push past this feeling, it will get better. One day I will wake up, look in that dreaded mirror and see how my hard work is paying off. It will happen; I just need to be patient. After all, the numbers don’t lie. If the scale says I’ve lost over 10 pounds. Then I did. If the tape measurer says I’ve lost x number of inches, then I did. I just have to wait to see it. Or keep my pants to prove to myself that they’re either growing or I’m shrinking.
See? Total first world problems.