Tiny Tummy Dispatch: Three months in

I'm trying so hard to stay positive because, honestly, what I am going through right now is 100 times better than diabetes, high blood pressure, not fitting into any of my jeans and, oh, I don't know... premature death. 

I'm trying to celebrate that it's hot and humid today and I have been sitting for hours without putting my feet up and my feet are not swollen which was always a fat girl problem of mine. And I'm trying to celebrate that I have drank a ton of water just like my body needs for days on end now. And I'm trying to celebrate the fact that Bryan was so excited when I was walking up the stairs in front of him today because he saw a calf muscle he's never seen before on me.

But today I discovered that a tiny tummy equals menstruation. If that grosses you out... deal. Because, seriously - I haven't had but one or two periods in the past two years and I really, really liked it that way. In fact, I had convinced myself I had achieved - yes, ACHIEVED - early menopause just like many of the women in my family. But, alas, not menstruating was, apparently, just another fat girl problem.

So I'm dealing with my first dose of PMS in FOREVER, coupled with a deadline on a group paper that feels completely out of control right about now and, to top it off, my largest scar has decided, once again, to open up because WHY NOT GET ALL THE BLOOD OUT AT ONCE?!


At least I now have an answer for why that whore of a scale hasn't budged recently.

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