Goodbye, Baklava

I know we never met frequently, Baklava, but I cherished our moments.  I will miss you.

I'm hypoglycemic.  Over the last year, it's come to the point where I can't eat more than a quarter portion of an average piece of cake without feeling very nauseous.  I gave away my Christmas candy and I don't even put sugar in tea anymore.  For the most part, I don't mind.  I've never been very big on sweet foods, they were always a sometimes treat.

What I hadn't considered was baklava.  It's already in small pieces.  It has nuts in it.  It should be ok to have just a tiny bit.  Baklava has always been one of my favorites for occasions.

Alas.

I've been very ill lately and my roommate kindly brought home a piece of baklava for when I feel better. Today, I'm feeling much better and thought I'd have a little bit of it.  One. Single. Bite. And I'm nauseous.  I put the rest of the pastry carefully back into it's little box.

I would still rather give up sweets entirely rather than take insulin injections.

Goodbye, baklava.  I will remember you fondly.

I Need a Haircut

I have to get my haircut today. I’ve been putting it off all week. That’s the nice thing about an overgrown pixie, you can just throw some product in it, mess with your part, and go.

...or you can be on vacation and never really leave your house or get dressed and your boyfriend still thinks you’re a sexbomb. God knows why.

The pixie was an impulse decision about seven weeks ago, around when I finally claimed my body. I claimed it in a weird way - I joined Weight Watchers in June, but really started tracking properly in August because goddamnit, it is getting really tiring being the fat girl and not being able to do things I want to do (or shop at regular brick and mortar stores, guys, seriously.) I couldn’t (can’t?) stand how I look in pictures and I actively avoid cameras.

But in that same moment where I got serious about tracking, I accidentally got serious about body love. Maybe it was because I had just started reading Marianne Kirby on XOJane, or because I was regularly commenting in /r/loseit, but I stopped hating my body. Years and years of rage and frustration that my stomach was never going away, my breasts were too heavy, my jigglypuff butt - whatever. That was gone as soon as I was exhausting myself on a treadmill and not putting so many damn carbs and sugar into my mouth. I’ve only lost 12 pounds. I still wish it was coming off faster, and that size 14 David’s Bridal dress is definitely not going to fit right by next Saturday. And I’m going to look dumb as hell in it because the cut is for girls without tummies, but hey, whatever - I love my bride. A lot.

Almost as much as I love my hair.

This is the first of three weddings this year. I wonder what I’ll look like by New Year’s.