Women ask about losing the baby weight. It’s nearly an obsession. How long did it take? Did breastfeeding help? Have you taken a strollercize class? Will I ever look the same again?
For me, losing the baby weight wasn’t impossible. Looking at old snapshots, there I am holding a six-week old baby, in my size 12 jeans. Maybe I was a bit flabbier, but I didn’t feel all that much heavier.
Then I went back to work full-time. And in the whirl and swirl of 50-hour and more weeks, midnight feedings and life, the pounds piled on. No sleep, no time to eat sensibly – heck, sometimes no time to eat – certainly no time for the gym.
In two years, I gained back everything I’d lost.
That’s the tricky part we don’t discuss. Yes, you might lose the baby weight. But if your life is a chaotic mess post-kid, you might well find yourself heavier than before.
Where did I finally tip the scales? Around 175 – ten pounds shy of what I weighed in at right before I delivered my 8 pound 11 ounce baby boy. Shortly after my son’s second birthday, I was bustin’ out of size 14 pants. Most nights, I’d cruise through the Wendy’s drive-thru to feed my family.
It couldn’t go on. I hated what I was teaching my little guy. I hated what I was doing to myself.
Perhaps it’s worth saying that I didn’t ever hate my reflection in the mirror. I’m short and curvy – Sicilian, to be precise – and I carry weight better than most. Factor in my personality – also Sicilian, and fiery – and I’ve never felt held back by the pounds dragging me down.
All that aside, 25 months post-partum, I became a full-time stay-at-home-mom. And my excuses crumbled.
Believe it or not, the pounds dropped off without much agony. I went from a 14 to a size 12 jeans in about a month, mostly by giving up fast food. It was enough momentum to keep me changing, and soon I was adding more veggies, dropping more junk from my diet.
Ten months later, I weighed 136 pounds and had just shimmied into a pair of size six cords. Then I got pregnant.
Today, I’ve traded in my size eight jeans for a pair of size tens. (I’d never gotten around to buying the size six jeans before the home pregnancy test came back dur, you’re knocked up.)
I’m 14 weeks. The tens are loose, actually. The eights weren’t tight. I’ve just gotten used to feeling a little extra space between my skin and the denim. But I’ve unpacked the tens from my pile of fat clothes.
And it’s scary. It’s like the ascent on a roller coaster – heavy with anticipation and fear. Emphasis on heavy.
