Three Strikes: I Am Out of Excuses

Now that my headaches are under control (8 days and counting!), I am trying to tackle another foe.  

Here's how the sorted details unfolded:

1. I have a habit of accumulating a small pile of dry clean only items for about 3 months at a time.  When I finally turned them in, got them back, unwrapped them and TRIED THEM ON........OOps. Nothing fit.  I am not just talking about suck in a little, I mean couldn't quite button at all.  

2.  I had a follow-up appointment with my primary care physician.  When the nurse took my weight, I heard a giant C-a-L-UN-K-k (note slow-motion sound affect mimicked) and the whites of my eyes got large as my mouth echoed a loud "NNOOoo".  That second piece of metal on the bottom slid to the the right, along with any misconception I had that I was OK.

3. Then, their is the honest opinion of my 6 year old son saying, "Mommy, your belly is skwooshy!"

Thanks to baseball we have the useful metaphor adding up to, "Three strikes = You are out!"  Out of pants, shorts and skirts that fit, out of excuses and out of my mind.  

I could go buy new clothes. No, I like the ones I have.

I could close my eyes when I get weighed. Nope, too curious.

I could tell my son he was mean, humiliating and obviously having visual hallucinations. No can do: he is helplessly honest and sweet.

It's OK. I'll be fine. Really. I swear. 

I do, however, hate finding out that 4 ounces of salmon equals 6 points on Weight Watchers.  On the same track, I had no idea my teenage boys would find my huge batch of Zero Point Vegetable Soup so delicious.  I don't see anyone headed toward the cottage cheese.......hope lives.