No, I'm not pregnant. Nine months is the time between now and when I make my big move. That's the move which kicked off my change in myself and my body. When I started this, I had a goal at the end and that was to weigh 150 lbs. by early spring of 2012. Right now, my best guess is that I weigh 182 lbs., more or less. The interesting thing is that I haven't thought about the deadline or "how much longer" I have to reach my goal for quite some time.
As my husband and I were talking this morning about the looming change, and all of the logistical issues related to getting from where we are to where we'll go, I suddenly realized that my thinking had completely shifted from where it was in June 2009 to where it is today. At that point in time, my fear was that I would still weigh nearly 400 lbs., or, at best, still weigh around 300 and that my weight would impede my ability to get on a plane and sit in one seat and to get a new job when we get to where we are going. Though I'm still fat, I no longer fear my weight being a significant issue by the time we leave. What is more, I have very little concern about regaining in the future.
I considered "the math" today and I would have to lose an average of 3.5 lbs. a month from now until then to get to my goal number. The thing is, the math is irrelevant because bodies don't work that way. What is more, I'm not going to do anything differently in order to get my chin up to an arbitrary bar (150 lbs.). I'm not going to boost my exercise, reduce calories, or fret over what types of food I'm eating. I'm going to stay the course, and that course includes eating nearly 2000 calories or sometimes more on occasion (generally, once a week now). If I don't reach 150 by the time I go, it's okay. I'll get there at some point thereafter, at least if that is where my weight is meant to land on a healthy and varied diet with small treat consumption.
Though I'm still pretty fat, and I still believe it may affect my employability in some case, I'm not prepared to go off the deep end to reach a number on the scale. I'm very happy now with how I live each day food-wise (and in other ways as well). I feel good about the nutritional balance, the flavor, the smell, and texture of my entire diet (and I use "diet" correctly here to mean "the food I eat", not "dieting" as in restricting my food intake). I can not only live this way forever, but I can be pretty damn happy with it. I don't feel deprived. I don't long for things I can't have. I don't want to stuff myself stupid, at least not most of the time. And, make no mistake, wanting to stuff yourself stupid on occasion is part of human nature. It doesn't matter what your weight is, you'll want to do it from time to time. It's nothing to be upset about or hate yourself for.
Food police might wag a finger a me for "wasting" calories on a cookie, a square of chocolate, or half a piece of cake, but they can plant their lips squarely on my posterior and give me a big wet one. And fat advocates who predict my early demise because of weight loss or say I have a 95% change of regaining, there is space on my ample posterior for you to lay one down as well. There's something between the life bullying food nazis and fat advocating zealots talk about, and that's where I currently live. It's moderation and balance. I like to call it "normal". That's the place at which food stops being a source of pain and stress in your life.
The other "place" where I currently live is a mental one. That is one in which the context of weight and food in my life is becoming increasingly less neurotic. The fact that my deadline is the length of a baby's gestation away and my primary, secondary, and tertiary thoughts are not about whether or not I'm going to make my "goal" is a pretty good indicator of that. And I'm really happy about it.