December 30, 2010
Prior to becoming pregnant with my son, I was invincible and confident. My athletic prowess was at a peak – I boxed and took the highest level spin class. I danced and ellipticalled, swam in triathlons and strength trained. My body had never been so toned, my weight had never been so much smaller than my IQ. Salad and fruit were delicious alternatives to fast food. I carelessly made promises to my svelte husband like, “Each year of our marriage, I will fit into my wedding dress.”
I had a baby five months ago.
I don’t even remember what a gym is or where to find one.
If I saw a size zero woman right now, I’d probably glare at her and shove bread down her throat.
For all my pre-baby confidence, it was rooted in a cover up of body issues that have plagued me since obtaining the nickname “Butterball” in middle school. Food had always been a comfort that got me over disappointments and stressful situations. Despite a lengthy side life as suburban athlete balancing seasons of swimming, soccer and ballet, my chubbiness continued piling up throughout my scholastic career. Jeans were impossible to find, bikinis were the scariest thought on earth. Forget the freshman 15 – at graduation from my alma mater, I tipped the scales at 160 pounds. I am 5′-1″. Apparently, the pizza shop down the street from my college apartment overshadowed my latent hope of becoming a Victoria’s Secret model.
Once I met my husband, I became healthier and happier…Wendy’s was no longer my staple food source. He made me feel beautiful for who I was, despite the flabby thighs and love handles. Feeling loved went miles and the weight melted away – I started picking up weights and working out and whittled my weight down to a more natural 115 that I maintained for six years. I even conquered my fear of bikinis, which was helpful considering I live in a beach town that celebrates flip flops and sunshine.
Then I got pregnant.
Inch by inch, pound by pound, the weight crept back on. Though I inherently knew that gaining pregnancy weight was healthy, my inner hefty girl was freaking out. Each month, I prayed that my baby was healthy and that my weight hadn’t spiraled out of control. I put the numbers on lock down – nurses were to become Fort Knox and bar my husband from such privileged information. My new standard of healthy was to count the number of chins – anything under three was perfectly acceptable.
After delivering my darling boy, it didn’t matter. I had no time to address the matter in between colic, diaper duty and generally loving on my son. Though I settled back to about 10 pounds over my normal weight as a result of nursing and having little time to eat, I stopped caring. Instead, I focused on raising a good man instead of shedding the pounds that had protected him. My husband reminded me of my promise that I’d fit in my wedding dress again. I informed him that it would make a great scarf, which technically meets his requirement.
But I miss the old me. The feeling of strength and control. The de-stressing effects of sweating. The strange joy of muscle failure and aching. Especially when I realized that now, five months later, the only running I’d been doing is past mirrors. I don’t want my son to have the same weight issues I had and I know my responsibility as a parent is to set a healthy example.
Today, I am stoping the insanity. Susan Powter would be proud. I am getting back into the spin of things and want my Mama Moderne family to keep me accountable as I start my fitness journey. Each week, I will report back my exercise routine, basic food intake and weight – and set goals for the next seven days. I’d love to hear from our MM readers on new ideas, advice or their own stories as we attempt to get back to the weight we were.
Ooh, sugar cookies.
This was probably a bad idea to start just after the holidays.
Current Weight: 126
Goal Weight: 115