It just took me 45 minutes to get Jack down for a nap at my parents' house, so I am in a STELLAR mood. An excellent frame of mind for writing about one's fat pants, don't you think?
(Although I am compelled to add that the baby slept from 6:15 on Wednesday to 6:30 on Thursday and his parents gave a great HALLELUJAH to the heavens when it was confirmed that neither of them got out of bed during the night. Turns out you can't retain your sunny disposition if you have given up your third nap AND you are consistently cutting your second nap short. It was fine when the second nap was nearly three hours long (I KNOW. JESUS LOVES ME.) but the holidays ruined THAT so, there you go. Also? A tooth! GAH.)
Anyway. January! 'Tis the season for weight loss, Internet, and I am not too proud to jump on the bandwagon. Well, if I wasn't already IN the wagon. Sigh.
I really really really wanted to get down to my pre-pregnancy weight before my Christmas party. Not because I was going to wear some slinky dress or bore all my friends with the news of my accomplishment, I just wanted to get there before everything I ate at the party (plus the actual holidays themselves) solidified itself on my ass. That way I could say, "Hey! I lost it before, I'll do it again! Take THAT, twelve different kinds of Christmas cookies!"
I'm sure you are not surprised to hear that I didn't reach my goal. But! I only had three pounds left to go. Three pounds! That's, like, WATER WEIGHT! I tried to behave over the holidays, I really did, but there was fried bread dough and dim sum and more cookies and more wine and then an unexpected New Year's gathering and now? I am four pounds away. (And no, I was not keeping track of my weight during the holiday weeks, so I have NO idea how much I gained after Christmas, suffice to say it was probably a LOT more than one pound. What do you think I am? A masochist?)
Then I decided I would lose it all by January 10. That's Jack's 8 month mark (and my sister's 25th birthday, oh my GOD, that means I'm ANCIENT) and I wanted to be able to say I'd lost it all by 8 months. Screw these 9 months on 9 months off people! I AM AN OVERACHIEVER!
But now I am looking at having to lose 4 pounds by this time next week, and, shall we say, this is the most difficult time of the month to lose weight. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. In fact, it may be IMPOSSIBLE.
So here is the new goal: lose four pounds by the end of January. And, ideally, do not GAIN more pounds. Really, is it so hard to throw away the leftover cake? It's not like it's the only cake left in the universe. I CAN MAKE MORE CAKE.
Who's with me? It's only four pounds! And it's only January 3rd! That's one pound a week! We can totally do it!
All right. Now that I've got the cheery positive rah rah rah thing out of my system: THIS TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY SUCKS. I had absolutely no idea how much this would suck. I was dying to be pregnant and have a baby. It happened! I had the easiest pregnancy in the history of pregnancy. Even childbirth wasn't the horror movie I was steeling myself for. I did not have a nervous breakdown during the first six weeks like I thought for SURE was going to happen. I was fine! Everything was perfect!
But man, even if your pregnancy is relatively carefree and you escape stretch marks and scars and reconstructive surgery, it so screws with your body image. I'd read about all these women who, for the first time, felt happy with how they looked. Glowy and glorious and in tune with Nature. I don't know. The only thing I was in tune with was the exponential growth of my butt.
I worked really really hard to lose about 30 pounds before I got pregnant. I did NOT enjoy packing them back on (plus 15 more). (Yes, I KNOW eating an entire box of cookies once a week compounds the problem. SHUT UP.) But while I was pregnant it wasn't the worst thing in the world. I had a good reason, after a while I was obviously pregnant and not just a giant lardbutt, and I'd tell myself I'd lose it like I lost the other weight.
Except I happen to be the lone woman in the world for whom the Breastfeeding Diet is a total crock. The weight sloooowly came off, but I didn't feel like my normal self until I stopped breastfeeding at six months and signed up for the Evil Weight Loss Challenge. And after that? Over a year since I'd started gaining back weight? I finally felt like myself.
I remember telling Phillip, "I feel like I have my body back." And it was HUGE. I may be four pounds away, but I'm no longer standing in my closet and crying because nothing fits me. I still have some pants that are too small, but I have a bigger stack of pants that are too big. I can put them back in the Fat Pants box. My old shirts are long enough again, my sweaters aren't bursting at the seams, I can not only button my favorite pair of pants, they hang and slouch and droop and make me look like a total slob, just the way I like them.
It is really wonderful to not wake up every morning and feel powerless over your own self.
But still! Four pounds! THEY ARE COMING OFF. They are coming off via Maggie's Slacker Version of a Low Carb Diet (essentially: no sugar and no white flour, unless I think I'm going to die, in which case a handful of chocolate chips may be necessary.) And over the weekend we cleared out a big empty space in Phillip's office for a dirt cheap treadmill I plan to score off craigslist. I decided to do this MONTHS ago, but we only rearranged the office recently, so now I am lumped in with all the other Resolution: Lose Weight shmucks who are trolling for dirt cheap treadmills on craigslist. Sigh.
And seriously- who's with me? I am VERY good at sending motivational emails.