I attended a restart appointment at the New Directions program today (the hospital program I was attending before I, umm, had my little 40-pound brain fart). I think I was more scared to attend that appointment than I was to give birth to my 12 pound baby boy. Going in, seeing that scale, was admitting failure. It was asking for help. It was, in effect, telling the nurse practitioner (Liz, who could very well be the coolest weight loss guru on the planet) that I totally messed this one up and I'm not the star pupil I thought I was back in the day. It's a pattern throughout my life. I love being the child/student who receives praise from the "teacher." I still call my parents to tell them the things I've done with my day just to receive their blessings and praise. Well, obviously, telling Liz I'd gained 40 pounds in 6 months, completely jacked up my once-under control blood pressure and cholesterol, was not what I had in mind. But anyways, mission accomplished. Liz was just happy to see me and didn't give me the 3rd degree about my obvious flaws.
My food has been purchased and Day One is tomorrow. I'm so ready to get this going, I don't even want "one last carb" dinner. I just want to do a good job.
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