I had just returned to my desk after a lovely lunch with my friend, who happens to be my cousin’s wife, and their adorable rugger of a 2-1/2 year old daughter when it happened.

I accidentally looked down and saw this…

Yes. That is my belly. Don’t be frightened. It is locked down by my far-too-tight jeans and so it will probably be unsuccessful in its attempts to consume your head.

To be fair to myself, I was slouched way down in my chair, but under no circumstances whatsoever is it acceptable for my belly to protrude past my breasts.

Game back on.

Live, love, lose. Damn it.

How much damage could I have done in a week?

I’m guessing A LOT.

I haven’t weighed in for the past eight days. I’ve stopped tracking my calories. And I’ve ultimately stopped caring.

It started last Thursday with crepe night. I made savory crepes, stuffed with shredded chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes, smothered in cheese and creamy soup, and sweet crepes with Nutella and strawberry jam, sprinkled with sugar. Oh, my.

It rolled into Friday’s cupcake baking extravaganza for Saturday’s boot hockey event. Of course, there were quality control checks and The Baron and I each at 1-1/2 cupcakes that night, in addition to the crepe leftovers, both savory and sweet.

On Saturday morning, I made the puffed caramel corn and did plenty of quality control inspections on that, as well. I kept thinking that it was just nibbling and it would be okay because I’d be running my ass off during the game. It was more like I trotted my ass up and down the rink just enough to convince myself that I could then go in and eat everything that had been set out for the people who actually did work up an appetite.

I finally did get some actual exercise with an hour of snow shoeing on Sunday. Which was followed by yet more eating; shrimp scampi with linguine, roasted asparagus, and homemade heart shaped brownies dipped in melted chocolate for Valentine’s Day. Oh, and probably some cupcakes as we somehow left the boot hockey game with nearly a full dozen!

And then the sadness of the cat set in. By Monday, I pretty much knew that she was not going to bounce back and she would have to be put to sleep. So, I laid in bed scritching her behind her ears. And snacking. And scritching.

Tuesday’s appointment at the vet confirmed my fears and I spent the night in bed alone (couldn’t stand to have her near me while I was sobbing) eating. Dairy Queen blizzard, fish sandwich (those are the WORST), french fries…and, okay…cheese curds. I’m a massive blob of shame.

Last night was no better. Taco Bell. I want easy. I want my bed. I want my cat.

But I can’t continue on this way. I am bloated and uncomfortable. And I’ll be a complete mess on the edge by the time next Friday rolls around and I have to let her go. I need to take care of myself so I can take care of her at the end of her life.

I owe her at least that much after fourteen years.

When they are tiny little kittens, and you are 22, no one stops you to take a moment to consider how much it will hurt when it is time to say good-bye.

Sierra, the stink face cat, my little squeaker, has a mass in her tummy.

We have to say good-bye a week from Friday.

I am so sad.

Dr. Leo Marvin!

Well, I dropped the 1.8 pounds I had gained last week and I am back to exactly 175.8. I’m running making the huge losses I saw in the first week, but I’ll take the baby steps to my goal.

I did a lot of eating over the weekend, as anticipated, but I could have (and in the past, would have) done worse. This week will take some serious strategic planning, especially with the annual family boot hockey game (and chili chow down) on Saturday. My plan is to bring the ultra-addictive Old Dutch puffed caramel corn that I’ve been running into EVERYWHERE this winter, and one other secret sweet treat, and then play as hard as I can so I don’t feel too guilty.

On the upside, it’s snowing like crazy and is forecasted to continue into tomorrow, so I have ample shoveling in my near future to burn a calorie or two.

Live, love, lose.

Why is it that most days I eat lunch at my desk or run errands by myself but as soon as I try to lose some weight, friends are crawling out of the woodwork to try to get me to go out for a meal…?

I now have three lunches next week and one (so far) the following week.

And I’m up 1.8 pounds from yesterday.

I’m crawling back under my anti-social rock until I get to my goal weight.

Live, love, lose.