Each morning I approach the scale with a groggy, but optimistic step. I wait for it to calculate my weight, look down and stare in shock at the number staring back at me.
I know, I know, I just had a baby three months ago, but the numbers, they aren’t a budging. And I’m starting to panic.
When I got pregnant, I was in such a good place with my fitness and my weight. I was running regularly, getting ready to train for a marathon and my “skinny” jeans were getting baggy. Then came the nausea, the fatigue and the incredible, insatiable NEED for sugar ... and Chipotle.
For the most part I kept it pretty healthy, but I didn’t deny myself at all. I ate to feed the baby AND my cravings. I figured as long as I got the healthy stuff in, I’d deal with the rest of it later.
Well, later is here, and deal with it I must.
I gained about 35 pounds, which my doctor was fine with. I had a healthy baby girl, and all of those pounds were worth it.
BUT, I just assumed that once the baby was born, the pounds would begin dropping. And they did for a while ... then they just stopped. And 12 extra ones seem to have their sight set on taking up permanent residence on my thighs. Twelve pounds may not sound like that much, but on my 5 foot 4-ish frame, it’s A LOT! Trust me.
These are not MY thighs. This is not MY stomach. My ass does not look like this ... only it does. People always complain about how much harder it is to lose weight as you get older or have a second child. I just kind of assumed they were lazy—and the thought karma is coming back to bite me in said ass. Hard!
It’s not that I’ve always been in fabulous shape, it’s just that if I wanted to be, I could get there. I just needed the motivation to do it, and then my body would happily oblige. Finding that motivation could be a problem for sure, but fitness was mine for the taking.
Now I have more motivation than I’ve ever had in my life, but my body is just sitting there staring dumbly at my efforts.
I’m eating well; I’m running again, and the numbers ... and pounds ... are just stuck. And yes, I’ve replaced the batteries in my scale ... at least once.
I know what you’re thinking--give yourself a break; it will take time; nine months on, nine months off. Thank you, really ... but I just want my old body back NOW. And it doesn’t help that every Hollywood actress is baring a bikini mere minutes after giving birth.
As I struggle with my weight and thoughts like this, I realize that while this pregnancy may have forever changed my body, the birth of daughter has forever changed the way I must approach food and fitness.
As I keep up the recommended constant flow of chatter going with her all day, already I’m having to censor myself and banish from my lips things like, “Mommy can’t eat that or she’ll be huge forever.” Or “OMG, my jeans are so tight, I’m not eating for a week.” or “I’m so f-ing fat”—okay, the last one for a couple of reasons. Because I know what I say and do about my weight is going to get passed on to and imitated by her.
So I’m stopping myself from trying any fad diets, researching herbal weight-loss treatments (sooo tempting, though) or even worse, just getting frustrated and giving up. Instead, I’m setting realistic fitness goals—I signed up to run the Marine Corps Marathon in D.C. in October, and also agreed to run a leg of a 200-mile relay race across part of Florida with a group of women in November and I’m trying to eat healthy, whole foods. Also, I’m doing what I can to try not to groan when I pass by a mirror or look at the Easter pictures taken this weekend ... at least audibly.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Originally published on BettyConfidential