The Big, Dreaded Word

Well, I have to admit I fell off the wagon last night.  I totally ate junk food for my dinner as a result of my emotional eating.  However, I've decided I don't really care about it as my afternoon delivered the big, dreaded word: infertility.  Now, I am not saying I am infertile, but I am saying I might be.  I'm saying my OB/GYN spoke with Dom and I about possibly taking fertility meds.  I am saying I delivered a request from my doctor to radiology for a test for infertility (a pretty invasive one, I might add!) that stated, "INFERTILITY" on it.  I'm saying I nearly lost my shit in radiology.  It just makes it so much more real having it written by someone else on paper.

This appointment was followed by a couple of tears and a greasy supper that I somehow feel soothes my sorrow, which was then followed by a visit with a happy-go-lucky pregnant friend (which is wonderful, but slightly brutal on that particular day).

I've decided that I am allowed to have "infertility days".  I'm guessing these will be my appointment/procedure days.  Days that if I am craving crap, I'm going to go with it.  Days when I don't need to visit with friends, especially friends that are pregnant.  I dearly love my friends, and I love talking about their pregnancies (I did want to be a midwife), but sometimes I don't need the reminder that this hasn't been, and maybe won't be, an easy road for me.

Not About Bikinis...

Sigh.  As a staunch feminist I don't advocate for "perfect" bodies.  I love all shapes and sizes, and believe that health and happiness can be at any weight.  However, in the past year and a half (or so) I've gained about 20 pounds.  I think I have been eating a bit more crap than what I used to, but the real culprit is my drop in physical activity.  I used to walk everywhere, snowshoe, elliptical, hike, generally build up a sweat on a daily basis.  But, with this dumb ankle, and dumb hip, I just can't maintain that level anymore.

I wasn't underweight to begin with, so I'm not too into the idea of carrying around a bunch of extra weight on my already stressed out ankle.  I don't think I'm at a weight (around 155 at 5'3 and a half) that is really impacting my health, other than my joints.  I've also been thinking that when (not if!) I get pregnant, that's a bunch more impact added to my poor joints.  So, folks, I'm on a very healthy mission to lose about 15-20 pounds.  I'm trying to incorporate more activity into my life (much more regular walking and hopefully I'll get back to my Pilate's), but the real change has to be my food intake.  Dom and I are generally super healthy eaters, I guess I just eat too much.  So, lately I've been cutting down sizes and really trying to pay attention to my body and what it needs.  It hasn't been horrific thus far and I have eaten some amazing food.

I just hate being a woman talking about losing weight!  Somehow I feel like I am going against so much of what I believe in.  Except, I believe in being healthy and I don't feel healthy at this weight (my ankle sure doesn't!).  So, hell no, I'm not on a diet!  I guess I'm just trying to be more intuitive.  Anyone have any good vibes to send my way?  I can still be a feminist if I want to lose weight for my health, right?