In that time, I had a three month stint with Weight Watchers, where I agreed to give them my money and cook their recipes and not lose a damned thing. Truly. I didn't cheat. I followed that diet to the number. I calculated my fat and fiber grams and divided by my weight and multiplied by the number of letters in my mother's maiden name and then I combined that with my blood type and signed away my first born son (his name was Sam... we don't speak of him since Kirstie Alley took him away. Ok, so she was with Jenny Craig. Whatever). Let me tell you...the weight seemed to melt off... of MARK. The weight seemed to cling on... to ME. Lying cheats, that's what I call them. And really... can you picture me in one of those meetings? Its not pretty. Picture lifetime member "Tammi" gleefully talking about how carrot sticks are the new Hershey bar. Would you want to say that with me in the room? Didn't think so. Carrot sticks are the old carrot sticks and Hershey's is my friend. Piss off, Tammi. We'll discuss "trading hugs for jugs" next week at your own risk.
So, I am at an impasse. I am no thinner than I was 8 years ago. I've had my ups and downs... ups being the general direction (and if this were mountain climbing or banking... up would be a good thing so who I am to judge whether or not its bad in weight land). The downs were taking place only when breastfeeding Will, which I now realize I never should have stopped. Yes, it may be creepy to breastfeed a soon to be three year old, but seriously... if you can down an entire Ben and Jerry's 1400 calorie pint and not gain an ounce... isn't it worth it??? So, here's the burning question. Do I actually break down and go on a diet that has apparently been worth discussing for 8 long years of my life? Or, better yet, do I just shut the hell up?