Weekly

I was proud of myself for managing all the special events this weekend without going too overboard.

I've had a slice of cake every night since my birthday, and only the one actually on my birthday was a big slice. The others have been a respectable 1/16th of the cake slices (for 7 points each). I won't say I didn't want more, but I stopped with that, and it fit into my day's allowance.

As of this morning's weigh-in, I'm down 4.2 pounds, which drops me solidly below the 260-pound mark, and puts me within a spit's distance of 15 pounds lost.

Losing weight is a trip through time: The last time I was below 260 was before I got pregnant with Alex, which was over a year and a half ago.

The Weight Watchers website is chiding me for losing too quickly. I'm looking at it as insurance against the slower losses of the onrushing holidays, and the nearly inevitable gains of Christmas week.

I still don't feel any different. Or look any different. My clothes still feel more or less the same.

But I am going to eat my last small slice of coconut cake tonight, and tomorrow, on my way back to the office from getting my allergy shot, I am going to stop at the Cold Stone Creamery and collect my free birthday club ice cream. It will cost me 14 points, and I may well have to dip into my flex points for it, but I will savor it, and know that I earned it, dammit.