I'm back from a good visit with my family. I didn't exercise all weekend, which I discovered that I missed! So much so, in fact, that I walked home from work last night at 11pm. I also didn't weigh myself for those days, which wasn't my favorite, even when I got on this morning and found two more pounds missing (for good-I'm not looking for them!).

Actually, I have two scales in my bathroom. One is a digital WW approved scale with body fat analysis. It only reads up to 308 lbs--which, as you can see from my ticker, I outweighed at the beginning of this journey. Now, even with a battery change, it is typically 10 pounds LIGHTER than reality, so I don't use it. (Because nothing sucks worse than to be told that you are 10 pounds heavier than you thought by the Doctor!) The other one is a heavy-duty non-digital that goes to 350. I really like this one, for the most part. It's just finnicky. For instance, moving the scale a few inches away from the wall can change your weight by a pound or two. Putting your feet towards the top of the scale makes you heavier than putting your feet near the center or bottom of the scale. And, the scale rarely starts at "0" day to day. I always micro-adjust the dial back to "0" from a little over or under, depending on the day (and maybe the humidity?).

As a result, I've become slightly OCD about the whole scale thing. I pull it out from the wall, then micro-adjust. Then get on the scale, centering my feet. Take a reading. Step off. Step back on. Re-read. Step off. Step on, but higher up. Read. Step off. Step back on. Repeat, 2-10 times. Take an average of the 27 readings (skewing towards the conservative side, because I Do. Not. Want. to show a Gain. EVER. AGAIN!)

So, I wondered if being home for the first time post-op would be weird. And, it was a bit. First, I fought more urges to blindly eat then I ever have at home. I wonder if that's some sort of survival instinct that kicks in around family?

CUT TO: Jem's Brain [70's looking computer geek-out tech center--long wall of blinking lights and whirring do-dads with a Jem avatar manning the station]

Jem's Brain [Tinny Computer Voice + Blinking Lights]: You are in proximity to parental units and other hematoligically-related human species. Please insert twinkie now.

Jem Avatar: You can't eat a twinkie. You'll puke. Plus, you aren't even hungry. Chill.

Jem's Brain: Whatever. Don't tell me to chill. I know when I need a twinkie and I need one--hey are those oreos? Your brother is eating oreos for breakfast?

Jem Avatar: Now, that. Is effed up.

Jem (Aloud): Ty, seriously! No oreos for breakfast, man. Try some cereal.

Jem's Stepmom: As long as he's eating, I don't complain!

Ty: Yeah, so there. But I guess I'll eat a slice of pizza first.

Jem's Brain: Overload! Overload! Pizza and Oreos for breakfast! Abort! Abort! Take your soy sausage and get out of there!

Jem's Avatar: Seriously! And, the sick thing is that Ty (author aside: he's fourteen) is a little runt who wishes he could GAIN some weight. And stop acting like a victim. You LOVE soy sausage.

Jem's Brain: Not compared to cold pizza and oreos!

Jem's Avatar: We're not having this conversation. Let's go bug (still sleeping ten-year-old sister) Ryn.

END SCENE

And so it went, all weekend long. Me seeing what "Old Jem" would have ate, me watching others eat like "Old Jem" and me having stupid internal discussions about why I am happier (and I AM!) not eating them, even if for a moment it seems unfair and silly and Lame.

Wait, does anyone else feel Lame for their daily food choices? I do. I feel like my superhero secret adventure card is going to get swiped any minute for all this continiously pious eating behavior. (No thanks, I'll just have water; Oh, I can't eat s'mores, sorry; It's a nice cake, but I'd rather have the cucumber slices). And the no alcohol thing. I mean, can we post-ops get some street cred here or what? I guess I'm just going to have to start pretending that all my vitamins are illicit drugs so at least I can be the girl who's always popping pills. Or Something!