Day 7 from Burbank: The Weigh In

Warning: Naughty language. In other words, if your name is Mom or Sandra, don't read any further. I know I'm not fooling anyone but I really want you to think better of me.

My incredibly smart and wonderful friend, Lisa, gently suggested I actually weigh myself for this experiment. Crazy right?

I had to buy a new scale because I knew my old scale weighed a smidgen light. Just like a good friend, my old scale lied a bit to make me feel better and if I leaned a little to the right it lied a little more.

My friend, Kim, would come over, weigh herself and then say "Is this scale right? Because if so, I have lost weight!" Kim's a fitness trainer and enjoys weighing herself. If I had her body I would run around naked all the time.

I picked out the pretty digital scale.

Brought it home.

Weighed myself on the old one and then on the new one.

I HATE MY F@#$%&@ WH@$& OF A NEW SCALE!!!

It's calibrated to 10 pounds more than my old friend scale.

HATE! HATE! HATE!

This is where I start to spin out. All the blood has drained out of my head and Hubby asks me what the scale said. I tell him it said to mind your own business. I throw on my baggy sweats, tennis shoes, and throw my fat hair in a scrunchie. Yes I said scrunchie. It might as well all come out. I have a secret stash of them and we'll have to get to that later I've got bigger problems. I start to head out the door to do stairs. I have to do 80 flights of stairs since I missed yesterday. And GOD KNOWS I can't afford to miss a day!

I'm angry, upset at "WH@$% OF A SCALE!" (okay at me) and visualizing myself on the "Biggest Loser" in a sports bra and underwear, standing in front of the panel. They're saying "So you decided to LOSE weight by eating croissants, crepes and ice cream?"

I pause to call my friend Dishee. This is the best she can come up with: "Well, at least it's not bathing suit season yet." I hang up.

I call my mom. She suggests I go dumpster diving and get old scale back. I hang up.

Shaboom calls because my email has her worried.

Lisa is concerned because I have never ever used that kind of language since she's known me.

I head out the door and my 3 year old starts crying because he wants to do stairs with me. I look beseechingly at Hubby. He tries to distract but it doesn't work.

This is what I would have missed if I had not taken him with me.

"Here's a flower for you, Momma, so you can look beautiful."

This is the part where my heart shatters into little pieces.

I'm standing there, a frumpy, tired, sad, scrunchie wearing mom and yet in this little guy's eyes I'm beautiful. He doesn't care what that WH@$# OF A SCALE! said. Why should I? What the heck's the matter with me? I start focusing in on his adventure and we have an amazing time. Life is good. Everyone is healthy. There are people out there with REAL problems. I'm a lucky, lucky person.

I think my heart is starting to learn something I didn't expect from this experiment.

Annnnnnnnnd I'm Back!

The bad news.

I need to lose 35 pounds to be French Skinny.

The good news.

Week 1

I've lost 3 pounds

(Don't get too excited. I'm 5'9 and can gain or lose 3 pounds in a day with a plate of Mexican food and a glass of water.)