I’ve decided to write about it. It being postpartum weight loss. I said I might. And then I never mentioned it again, kind of wishing that my silence would magically make the weight fall off and, as such, leaving me with no reason to ever mention it again. Negatory.
I gained 34 pounds with LittleBrother. Not too shabby, if i do say so myself. (And I do.) I gained 59 with BigBrother, mind you. I was feeling pretty good when, at one week postpartum, I had lost 20 of those 34 pounds. I smirked at myself in the mirror, gave my jelly-belly a goodbye nod and continued on my way. Just before Christmas, almost at the one-month mark, I was weighing in with anything lost from 25-30 pounds, depending on what I had eaten the night before or whether LittleBrother had already sufficiently drained his breakfast feeding by the time I stepped on the scale. Again, I smirked at myself, feeling kind of smug and carried on my way.
I don’t think the holidays helped.
To be fair, I’m still weighing in (naked, first thing in the morning) at anywhere from 25-30 pounds lost. However, never-ever more than 30. Never. And we’re fast approaching the two month mark. The jelly-belly is now waving at me. Or doing the hula by itself. Or something. I’m feeling kind of discouraged.
Which is downright insane.
I haven’t done jack to lose weight yet. I haven’t dieted. (Hi! Breastfeeding!) I haven’t started exercising. (Well, more than chasing a two year old around the house entails.) I have been good and continued drinking 64 ounces of water per day but that’s about as healthy as I get right now. I’m still too deep in the early exhausted days to think, “Perhaps I should fit in some crunches today.” With what free time, I ask you!
Acknowledging that I haven’t done anything to actively lose 25-30 pounds, other than give birth to a kid who weighed seven pounds, seven ounces, well, I should, in theory, be elated. I’m still kind of bummed. I find myself wishing for extra time to tone up my arms. Or do those crunches. And I know I could do squats and lunges and the like with LittleBrother strapped to me in any number of our slings and carriers but, well, I’d much rather take a nap.
Once the weather begins to warm, I’ll be able to put kids in carriers and strollers and go for walks. That’s how I lost all that weight with BigBrother. Nothing melts off the weight like taking a walk with twenty extra pounds strapped to your chest. But it’s a smidgen too cold for things like that just yet even with hats and mittens and appropriate cold-weather babywearing gear. Maybe by the time it warms up I won’t feel so exhausted. I say this as BigBrother is skipping a nap. Which only makes me even more tired to think about.
You may note I didn’t tell you my actual weight. I won’t. I also won’t tell you my clothing size. Or my bra size. Or any such nonsense. I am not a fan of being a slave to a specific number. Some read my numbers and tell me, “Oh, I’d die to be that size.” Others tell me, “Oh, so how do you feel being fat now?” I think both need to shut their mouths. I will note that I was fifteen pounds higher than my normal weight at my first prenatal appointment so I was either carrying extra weight when I got pregnant or bloated up faster than … fast. Either way, I’d like to lose a total of, from this point, twenty pounds. You don’t need to know what that number is. Trust me.
My next installment might have pictures. We’ll see. Today is a no-picture-of-Mommy kind of day. Growl.