The Early Fat Years

I started off as a chubby baby. Big fleshy fat rolls all over my pink little body. Cute dimples on my behind, and on my mini thunder thighs. Adorable, huh? Not so adorable when I was about 12 years old. All my classmates wore skinny corduroy pants in pastel colors with OP shirts. I stayed away from corduroy because of the “shish, shish, shish” sound my thighs made when I walked. I was afraid that one day, if I walked far enough and fast enough, my crotch would catch on fire. (totally j/k……maybe)
When I entered high school, I was blessed enough to grow 6 inches in one summer. I was 5’9” tall, so the extra 20 lbs didn’t look so bad anymore. Add to that, all the exercising that I was forced to do in P.E. Eventually, I joined the Pep squad, and lost all my baby weight. (Finally!) Peer pressure kept if off.
I met my DH, and married him 6 months later. Living with a man was a challenge. (Actually, living with a man who possessed the metabolism of a hummingbird was a challenge) He could eat anything he wanted, whenever he wanted. We ate out often, visiting all the nice restaurants in the area. Especially the ones that served the ginourmous proportions. Sitting across from Mr. Hummingbird Metabolism, I began to eat like him. Plus, since we were young and in love, we spent most of our nights alone, cuddling, and watching T.V. Five years later, I had gained 180 lbs. (Yes, it is possible. 180 lbs in five years is 36 lbs a year. Or 3 little itty bitty lbs a month. So, less than one lb a week. One lb of fat is 2400 calories. Or just 300 calories a day. That’s three beers or one extra sandwich, or something supersized, a day. Bottom line, it’s just one bad food choice a day, for 5 long years.)
I swear it just snuck up on me. One day, I fit into my bubblegum jeans, and the next, I couldn’t zip them. I hardly ever weighed myself, so it didn’t feel like a lot. At one point, my belly hung over the jeans, in a big mass of flesh. I thought I had a tumor! I was thisclose to making a dr. appt before I realize that it was just fat. Since Mr. Hummingbird didn’t complain, I just brushed it off thinking that I would start my diet “next Monday”.
Monday never came.
Around this time, I wanted to get pregnant. Mr. Hummingbird wasn’t entirely on board, but we tried. And tried. And tried. I took my temperature, charted, and read every book out there. Finally, many many EPT’s later, I made an appt. with my Dr. After a full exam, he told me that there was nothing wrong with me. I decided to keep charting for a few more months, and if the magic didn’t happen, Mr. Hummingbird was going to come in for his own exam. (which BTW, scared the shit out of him. This was to be avoided, if at all possible. He was afraid that he was going to be spanking the monkey, and Sister MaryBeth from his grade school would walk in on him. He has a lot of trauma due to parochial school.) A few months and 6 EPTS later, I was back in his office. We had small talk, and then he told me something shocking. He thought that my weight was prohibiting conception. (I was about 325 lbs at this point) I was stunned.
STUNNED.
Yeah, I knew that my weight had affected my sex life. I no longer walked around the house naked. I no longer wore sexy lingerie to bed. No more taking a shower together either. (we both didn’t fit in there together anymore.) Most of the time, I laid in the bed, striking a sexy pose, (back arched, one leg bent, hair tossed back, holding my breath to suck in my stomach and whispering, “turn off the light!” before I passed out from lack of oxygen.) and that counted as foreplay.
The more I thought about it, the more things started to make sense. Not only had my weight changed, but my whole body. I now had adult acne, even though I never had a pimple while in H.S. Also, my hair was a dry brittle ratty mess. (I thought it was due to over processing, but now know that it was due to my poor diet.) My joints ached. (enough that I couldn’t sleep on my side anymore. I had to sleep with the help of an elaborate system of pillows.) The biggest change for me was my skin was changing. Not just the acne, but the color. I suddenly started getting these dark brown spots over my body. Like brown blotchy skin. (I found out later that it is called acanthosis nigricans. It’s common in overweight people who have olive skin tones. It’s due to the insulin levels in your body. Google it.) I had brown patches on my knees, crotch, neck and underarms. It was totally gross and embarrassing. Not even a tiny bit sexy.
Back to the dr…….he told me that with my medical history, and the medical history of my family, (diabetes, high blood pressure, arthritis, etc.) things didn’t look good for me. He said that being overweight put a lot of stress on my body. He told me that unless I changed something, I was heading down the same road.
Now, I would love to tell you that this was enough to make me change my life. It wasn’t. We went to Chili’s that night, and had a double bacon burger for dinner. No, I had to sink low. Sink really low. Hit rock bottom. And I did. A few days later, while sitting on the toilet having a peaceful moment with God, I heard a “CRACK”. OMFG, I broke the toilet seat! I was so embarrassed! I couldn’t tell Mr. Hummingbird! I just sat there and cried silently. So, I did what every other woman would do, I ignored the broken seat. When he finally discovered it, I feigned shock and horror.
Inside, I knew that things had to change……

Next up: Crossing the border for drugs, colonics, explosive diarrhea and celebrity trainers!!