Life as we know it

Sunday evening... Doing a little computering before bed.

Baby appears to have a minor snotty head cold, but it doesn't seem to be bothering her too much. She has been eating like it's going out of style. Like twice as much as last week. We aren't sure where she's putting it... Also she's working on sleeping through the night, without waking up to nurse. This means she peeps and squawks, and I ignore it, and she goes back to sleep. She does wake up pretty early for the day so far, between 5 and 6, but at least I will get to sleep through to that time instead of getting up to nurse her for a half hour somewhere in the 2 to 3 a.m. range. She can stay awake for three hours now instead of two before her first nap. Still not 16 pounds yet, or barely so if she is. Judging by the way she's eating I'd say she'll start packing it on soon through! But she can crawl, and is starting to pull herself up a little bit.

We have to find a new home for Slick. He's a great cat except when he's harrassing Wilbur, and she's an old lady and doesn't need that kind of hassle. We found big hanks of her hair on the rug today when we got home from church, she was hiding in Delia's closet all covered in spit, and Slick was ready to go at her again. She wasn't seriously hurt or anything but she just hates him. And I would too if I was her. I really like him but he's just bratty to her and needs to live with either no other cats or a large, oafish young cat (basically just like him) who can put up a good fight and learn to play with him. Wilbur doesn't play with other cats. She does poke at Beany a little but it seems to be all in fun...

So Julianna bought us a digital camcorder! It should be here sometime this next week. We have been wanting one for some time, to record Delia's life a little bit for her (and for ourselves of course).

Julianna is quitting smoking this week. Again. It's very difficult because she has tried many, many times, and the pattern is as follows: Friday evening, smoke last cig and then pitch remainder of pack into toilet. Saturday morning, all is well until mid-morning. Crabby nastiness sets in resulting in peevishness, nit-picking, and general ill humor. Saturday afternoon, Yours Truly finally reacts to constant barrage of snappishness and snaps back, garnering classic retaliatory statement of "You're not being helpful and supportive." Here we can go either of two ways: we apologize to one another and find something fun/distracting/tedious to do, or we dissolve into yelling/crying/stomping around and one of us goes to store to buy cigs for Julianna to smoke. IF we weather that storm and survive rest of weekend, (a big IF), she goes back to work on Monday and promptly caves in to urges by smoking with work-buddy Kirk. Argh. Entire weekend of suffering and anguish, all for naught.

So if I get angry, I'm not helping. I try to be helpful and praiseful and so forth. But how many times must I endure this? I know, it's selfish and petty not to want to help -- but I do want to help. I just am pretty weary of suffering the slings and arrows of a crabby quitter, only to watch her drive off to work knowing there's about an 80 percent chance of her smoking on day one, and if not then, then a 90 percent chance the next day, etc. And I'm just not that able to feign enthusiasm very believably.

So tomorrow is the day I must get serious about Fat Losers, or else give up the idea of triathlon. I have been shirking. The stress of moving has caused me to revert to all my classic habits of eating crap to calm myself. Sugary treats, mostly. And I do it in secret... Well, some of the more heinous episodes have been secretive. I also do it right out in the open, though with more restraint than I'm really feeling because People Are Watching Me. If I thought nobody would be repulsed I'd just keep eating from sunrise to sunset.

I notice in all the stories of people who lose tons of weight and keep it off that they all mention exercise. I'm beginning to think that there's a connection here somewhere... (ha ha!). Guess I have to get off my ass.

So here's my resolution for tomorrow: Drink 8 glasses of water (which should be easy what with the swanky side-by-side fridge with ice maker and water dispenser, not to mention free "Iron Girl" water bottle given out at Sallymanders Triathlon Club meeting last month), eat no crap, log what I'm eating, and go for a walk. Must locate my WW stuff. Also look up WW meetings in Vancouver. And perhaps, if baby does not appear to be feeling yucky, go buy new swimsuit. If Karen Drexler can watch the baby while I'm in trying on suits. If the swimsuit place is open Mondays. Lot of if's there.

I am ashamed to say I've squandered a lot of my miraculous loss of last summer, and it's depressing to start over (not completely over, but way too close to it in my opinion). But, you just have to start from where you're at and make it happen. I think of these inspiring thoughts sometimes when I'm wishing to feel more gung-ho:
1. Nobody's going to do this for me.
2. Don't think of what I'm giving up, think of what I'm getting (i.e. more fit, slimmer, more energy, get to do triathlons, etc).
3. The old WW chestnut, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels."
4. I'll get to go clothes shopping!
5. Won't be so fat for my 20-year reunion, if there is one.
6. Exercise is good for depression.