Dorky or not, here I come.

I'm having a tough time, lately. No, I'm not talking about all the miss-spelled words in some of my recent Face Book posts. I'm having a hard time with this whole losing-weight-getting-fit-getting-my-ass-in-shape gig. The reasons are lengthy, boring and redundant and frankly, I don't want to whine today. I want to show you my birthday present to myself.

I'm having trouble envisioning the future me at my goal weight. Actually, I don't see it at all. All I see when I look in the mirror is failure - a lifetime of self-doubt. Jacobtrainer says I need to see what I'll look like when I reach my goal. He has me close my eyes, imagine my future self on a beach and tell him what I see. All I see is an empty beach. I can't see myself at all. (The fact that the beach is actually an island and there are no other people on it is probably indicative of other issues I have, but let's not go there, shall we?)

Anyway, rather than continue to be negative, I've found a way to see into my future. WA-LA! I made this for myself and hung it on the wall right outside my bedroom so I can see it dozens of times each day. If you look really close, you can see my future, too.

And yeah...I spent a LOT of time on this poster.

"Bring me four fried chickens and a Coke."

The rabbit food pyramid

 

"So what kind of diet are you on?"
 A:  I'm not on a diet.

"What does your trainer let you eat?"
 A:  LET me eat?

"No, I mean, um...like what do you eat now that you're, uh...doing this...whatever you're doing?"
A:  As much as I possibly can.

"You mean, like that food pyramid up there?"
A:  Not exactly.



As much as I possibly can. That's the best answer I can come up with. Short, sweet, to the point and most certainly accurate. I have a handy-dandy booklet that my trainer gave me in which I write down everything I eat. I keep track of calories, protein, carbs and fat. My caloric intake allowance is 1600 per day. Right now, all he/we are concerned with are my calories. (Which makes me wonder what's going to happen down the road, but I try not to think about it.)

My handy-dandy food log

I don't worry about high carb, low carb, low fat, fat free, no sugar, high protein trends that a lot of people seem focus on almost exclusively. I could eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream and one Snickers bar, and still have 89 calories to spare! I could have 4 1/2 Caramel Kreme Crunch donuts from Krispy Kreme and still be 25 calories shy of my daily allowance. I could have a double cheese burger, a medium fry and a small frosty from Wendy's and still have room for two or three mints.

(Right now, my eating disordered mind is suggesting that I stop writing, go purchase all of the above and have it for dinner. The voice tells me that it would be fine if I simply abstain from eating again until Saturday. This is the voice that got me where I am, though, and it's probably NOT going to happen. Stupid voice.)

OR...

I could have 53 1/3 large carrots, or 160 large celery stalks, or about 7 cups of chicken, or 7 1/2 frosted cherry Pop Tarts or 20 1/2 hard boiled eggs or 2 1/4 lbs of bacon or a whole box of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch cereal or... whoa, whoa,WHOA! Who in their right mind is going to eat 160 stalks of celery?

As much as I can might be a bit of an over-statement.

I make my food choices based on what I want to eat. Then I look at the numbers and figure out how to make it  happen. For instance, I love Mexican food. For some reason, I always feel like I'm "cheating" when I eat it. So I played around and came up with a recipe for chicken enchiladas that has 177 calories, 19 grams of carbs., 16.5 grams of protein and just 5.5 grams of fat. Less fat and calories? Omit the low fat cheese. Wa-la! I shred a bunch of lettuce and toss it with a little low-fat ranch dressing (2 Tbls., to be exact, for another 80 calories.) If I'm really hungry or if I just need to engage in hard-core eating behavior, I'll have 2 servings of the enchiladas and the whole meal is still under 450 calories. Tons of protein, very filling and it shuts off the stupid voice inside my head. Nice.

I still struggle with food and it's hard for me to write everything down. It's hard because the food log holds me accountable, and that totally bites. Especially when I have days like this:

Never said I was perfect, did I?

                           

My Bug in a Boy Suit, My Perfect Person, the Best Human I've Ever Known

Yep. That's him. My son, Andy. That's one of his senior year pictures, and the title of this post has been my tag-line for him since he was a baby. I've given him tons of nicknames in the twenty-one years he's been around: palooka-butt, monster, bother-boy, stealer-of-things-that-are-not-yours (like my Rolling Stone and Glamor magazines) and others. For some reason, "bug" seems to be universal for him. He's been called that by teachers for years. His data book at his developmental therapy program is labeled "Andy Bug." To me, he IS a perfect person and he certainly is the best human I've ever known. But it's not because he has Down syndrome. It's just because that's what he is to me.

Look, I'm his mother, so of course I think these things about him. The fact that they're true is beside the point. The point is that I never started giving him these nick names in order to excuse his disability or explain him away. My son has an extra chromosome. Period. He is not an angel sent from above to teach anyone anything. He is not a martyr, he is not any deity's precious gift. I was not chosen to be his mother because of any special attributes I may or may not have. He is not a punishment, curse or blessing any more than any other child.

Somewhere along the line, probably during my mitosis, there was a mis-copy. Not a mistake. A mis-copy. What this means is that when I was conceived and all my cells were splitting and making up all the zillions of parts of what would become me, at least one of the cells that became one of my eggs got an extra chromosome attached to it. That egg became half of Andy. That's it. And twenty-one years later, this is what he looks like.

There's no halo. He doesn't have wings and he's not surrounded by golden light. He's just a guy with an extra "y" and to try and make his existence into something more than that is demeaning to him. There's nothing "wrong" with him and there's no need to try and find a way to justify his existence.There's no more glory in Down syndrome than there is in having attached ear lobes or being able to roll your tongue.

There's been an awful lot of discussion lately about people like my son and this is just something I needed to say.
Fin.