(Re)starting weight

Thursday was the official big weigh-in day. It was the day when I would step back on the scale, assess the damage, and figure out what I have to do to get to the prime babymaking weight, and better yet, start to regain what I've lost of myself and my life.

Can I get a drumroll please?

The official restarting weight is...277.1 pounds!

*Boo* *Hiss*

Before I move forward, I need to make a confession. On Wednesday night, I laid down to go to sleep. I tossed and turned, but something just didn't feel right. I decided that I would get up and see what I could do to try to make myself more comfortable so that I could actually get some sleep.

Apparently, all I needed was to bake some peanut butter chocolate chunk cookies and eat them alone in the dark while watching old episodes of Weeds.

Why on earth was I doing this the night before the official weigh-in? I love me some cookies, and I'm a dangerous person with cookie dough in the house. However, I had no intention of eating anything, let alone baking anything. I full well intended to go to sleep. But I was restless and antsy, and it was like my body was telling me that I needed to get up and do something. And when I left the bedroom and walked into the rest of the house, I immediately headed for the kitchen and commenced with the cookie baking. It was like some kind of crazy cookie demon had invaded my body and was taking over.

Now, I do have to give myself a little credit. I only baked 6 cookies. Granted, they were big cookies and I ate all 6, but this was a victory for me. After all, I am the person who will roll up the cookie dough and press it into the 12 spots on a muffin pan to make these huge muffin/cookie conglomerations that are insanely, wickedly, sinfully incredible. And I will eat all 12. By myself. While watching tv, and all washed down with a Diet Pepsi for good measure.

So the fact that I made 6 normal cookies was a bit of a victory for me. But, amazingly enough, as soon as I finished those cookies, I felt this strange sense of peace as if everything was right with the world. I hid the evidence of my baking and crawled back into bed to sleep, my dirty deed done.

So I was thinking about all that when I stepped on the scale the next evening. While it disgusts me to look at that number, and realize that I'm on the downhill side careening toward 300 pounds, I honestly gave a small sigh of relief. Because the number wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be. I was expecting 280 or more, and I didn't miss my expectations by much, but apparently those 2.9 pounds made all the difference in my head.

So I did the math to find out how much weight I have to lose in order to hit my 15% babymaking goal. The verdict? Drumroll please...41.6 pounds. *BOO* *HISS*

This brought a lump to my throat. That's a LOT of weight to lose. And knowing how terribly I'm aching to get pregnant, how long is all that going to take? Tears sprang to my eyes as I saw myself having to wait forever to have a baby in my belly again.

Then I realized that I'm totally in control of this. My behavior can definitely sabotage the road to Babyville, but it can also deliver me there quicker than I realize. Do I want hot chocolatey cookie goodness, or a baby? Am I really too tired to workout, or would the prospect of eating for two (with a valid excuse!) get me through 30 minutes on the treadmill? That number seems so far away right now, but I've got the perfect motivation to work toward achieving it.

Now, I've just gotta get all this damn fund-raiser cookie dough I bought out of my house!