One thing I avoid posting about, usually, is my weight.
Weight is such a tricky topic. I’ve struggled with my body image for most of my teenaged and adult life, never being totally satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Members of my family have had years-long battles with eating disorders, and diets have been a revolving topic of conversation in my household. I’ve tried Atkins, South Beach, low-GI diets, calorie counting and Weight Watchers. I switch seamlessly between my ‘fat clothes’ and my ‘normal clothes’.
When I found out I was pregnant, there was a sense of elation. Yes, for all of the typical reasons. But also for one more selfish reason; I could finally stop sucking in my gut in public. I could watch the scale go up (in moderation) and not feel guilty or beat myself up. I knew that this wasn’t carte-blanche to start devouring my weight in Taco Bell and cookies, but there was freedom to stop counting points and reading labels obsessively.
I gained about twenty four pounds while pregnant with K – I think my ankles each gained 5 of those pounds. She was 7 lbs 5 oz of that weight; the rest stayed firmly planted around my gut in what I lovingly refer to as ‘mom tummy’. Its that weird, flabby, flat pouch of skin that just hangs out there, creating entirely the wrong sort of muffin top.
But now, thanks to breastfeeding around the clock, and often not finding enough time to eat, I’ve lost those twenty four pounds. Plus a few more besides.
And today, for the first time in almost a year…
I’m wearing my pre-pregnancy jeans.
I feel fantastic. I miss the security of the maternity panel, holding all of that junk nice and close…but my regular Old Navy jeans are feeling pretty comfy right about now. Its exciting.
What are YOU excited about today?