I was in a rush this morning because I hit the snooze button on my alarm, and for the first time in...well, ever...I fell back asleep. Putting me 10 minutes behind schedule. I am not a girly-girl in the morning...I don't spend 45 minutes getting pretty for work. I work with kids. I get food in my hair, snot on my clothes, and dirt on my feet (and this is all on a clean day). Worrying about my appearance is the last thing on my list. I give myself 20 minutes. Losing 10 of those puts me in chicken-with-its-head-cut-off mode. So long story short (although I already gave the long story
), I didn't weigh-in this morning. I had to do it this afternoon when I got home.And the number that presented itself on the lovely digital readout was....
[insert drum roll here]
299.
Which means I can officially say I no longer weigh three hundred something.
No, I weigh TWO hundred something.
And yes, that one pound really makes THAT big of a difference. I don't care how silly that is, how minute of a detail. There was a 2 starting my weight this morning. And given all I am going through right now, it's a pretty darn big deal.
I think the last time my weight began with a 2 was in 2000 or 2001.
Small victories in a life of utter chaos must be celebrated.
