Uh. Postpartum weight loss. Not a fun topic, but one of those facts of life that is so utterly real it’s annoying. After Max was born I had this grandiose idea of documenting my journey back to … well, back to something “normal”. Whatever that is. Pre-Jemma I had some of those happy marriage pounds and pre-Max I had found an ideal right around 140 pounds. I consider that ideal because 1) I felt good, healthy 2) I was able to borrow clothes from my sister’s which exponentially increased my wardrobe options.
I peaked at 179 pounds with my second pregnancy – a total of 39 pounds. Since two weeks postpartum I’ve wavered between 155 and 160. Boo. Holiday treats played a lot into my stagnant weight, but whatevs. I’m not gonna say no to a cookie when it’s staring me in the face. No sir. I had a plateau during my postpartum months with Jem too. I don’t think I started dropping again until she was 8 or 9 months.
I say all that to say, I’m bummed about my thick middle. I’m limiting my sweets without sending my sweet tooth into complete exile. Literally, I can eat a dozen cookies in a day if they are just hanging out and about. I am the non-blue version of Cookie Monster. I’m also focusing on eating quality calories because I’ve seen a direct correlation between wholesome food and my milk supply. Quinoa – represent! And, I’m biding my time, hoping that by Max’s first birthday I’ll be feeling more myself.
I tell others all the time that it takes 9 months to grow a baby and it will take at least that long to lose it. I need to remember my own advice. And most days, I do. But some days, it just stinks to be the bigger version of me. And today I’m telling myself that it is just fine to have those thoughts as well. Because I know in my heart of hearts, that the silver lining is the chubby little boy in my arms who wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my chubby tummy.