Today

I woke up like a raging bull this morning. It must be a hormonal thing because I went to bed in a fine mood. Sometimes it seems like everything and everyone is out to make your day difficult. That person/thing is usually my husband.

I won't sit here and bash on the poor guy. He got enough of that before leaving for work this morning, but I wish that, just once, he'd take the time to realize and maybe even be grateful for everything that I do. I don't know, maybe I'm just craving a little pampering, some recognition for all of the work and all of the sacrifices.

Jeez, I don't want to turn this into a lonely housewives confessional.

Today I'm just working around the house and ignoring all of the important things that I'm supposed to be doing. We haven't had a roof since August, what's another couple of weeks, right? I mean, hell, if I wait long enough, it'll be hurricane season again and maybe this year the rest of the house will go, too.

Nope, not shingle shopping today. Just doing laundry and floors and packing. Yes, packing. Jonas and I are going to Disney tomorrow. Yippie! Of course, Wil can't find to time to come with us. I guess he doesn't see the importance of sharing these moments with his son. I know that ten years from now, when I look back at the pictures, I'm still going to feel a little miffed about the missing part of the equation.

"Look J-man, there's you and Mickey Mouse, and Goofy, and Mommy."
"Where's Daddy, Mommy?"
"Oh, Daddy? He decided not to go with us on that trip honey, but look at the good time we had together."


Arrg! Not going to ruin my mood. Not going to do it.

Last night, after work, and after picking Jonas up, and after coming home to walk and feed the dog, I went to the store to pick up some baby food and some formula. I got a little sidetracked and ended up going shopping for new jeans, too. Hey, can you blame me? My clothes are falling off me. I NEED at least one pair of pants that fit.

So I'm in the dressing room, various sizes and styles laid out before me, Jonas happily chewing on a hanger. I hate trying on clothes. It's always depressing and demoralizing. I've always envied skinny girls that look good in anything they buy. With my size, and the way I'm built, it takes a miracle to find something that fits me properly.

I've picked out one pair of jeans that I'm saving until last to try on. They're a size 12.

Yeah right, Ang, you haven't worn a 12 since jr. high.

But still, I've been doing good on my diet. I can at least try them on, right?

Sure, go ahead, but don't come crying to me when you can't get them up over your ass.

So I slowly take them off the hanger. One leg in... doesn't feel bad. Other leg in... hey, I think they might fit! Up over the thighs... oh my god! There going to fit! Hips-- check. Waist, buttoned, zipped. Holy Shit! They're on, they fit! I'm a size 12!

Ok, so I didn't really have the money to be buying clothes last night. I even felt a little guilty since I was SUPPOSED to be buying baby food. But can you honestly leave behind a pair of jeans that make you feel like one of those Oprah Winfrey success stories? Hell no.

Just for the record, I did buy the baby food, too. I'm not THAT self absorbed.

Current weight: 170 (fully dressed with a pocket full of stuff. :)
Bust: 38"
Waist: 35"
Hips: 42"

Looks like the weight finally caught up with the inches this week.

That's a total loss of about 18 lbs and about 6 or 7 inches. Not bad.

I'm half-way to my goal, and feeling very good about it. Now let's see if I can keep myself from ruining it with all the theme park junk food.