I meant to say something about this last night, but I forgot. Euphoria, maybe, or just it didn't hit me until I put the new pants I bought last night on this morning.
I am now a size 2. Well, 4P if you must get technical, but we all know that petite sizes run one size up from "regular girl" sizes and, at 5'3"/ 5'4" (depending on which doctor you ask), I ain't getting any taller. So, I'll live in petites, be glad that finally someone realized that just because you're not super-model height doesn't mean you want to look frumpy, and shut my damn mouth about it.
The funny thing is; my body shape has obviously changed and my clothes hang off me, but the scale says I'm heavier than I've been in a long time. Muscle, I know, but seriously, WTF? Where's the justice in that?
Still, I should be happy with what I have (and hope for a big Christmas bonus so I can go and restock the wardrobe). I spent too many years tied to that number on the scale, so I know just how addictive it can be to keep seeing 130, 130 and all you want to do is get it into the 120s, then 110s, then 100s (and then someone stops you and that isn't at all pretty or fun). I know I should toss the scale out the fire escape, but that might hit one of the crackwhores who has taken up residence on my stoop this week and, well, wait, what would be wrong with that...?
I heart the NYSC. Yes, it kicked my ass, but it also helped me lose a little of it. :)
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