This is a picture of me when I was 17 years old. I was dancing hours and hours and hours a week, then doing theatre and school and having things like a metabolism.
This is me currently. 9 years later, two babies later, and living in a climate where you can not go outside to work out half the year, because you will burn, or freeze. Also, Jackson and John are also in this picture. Both of whom are so skinny I could not put their size pants on if you put a gun to my head. I helped John’s wife Tracie fold some laundry a few weeks ago, and I didn’t fold a single pair of jeans that I would fit into. Or even get over my calf muscles, for that matter.
What’s my point? I’ll tell you.
I used to be thin. I am not thin now. Yes, I’ve had two kids, yes I am nursing the baby exclusively and also pumping extra milk for others. Yes, blah blah blah. I’m not fishing for compliments, tonight I’m frustrated.
And if anyone posts a comment saying how breastfeeding makes you lose weight I shall be sorely vexed. Thank you.
My point is, I do not like the way I am shaped. Especially right now, while writing this blog. And what is the point of having a blog if I can’t blog about how I feel?
However, I am also a stress eater. Being a mom is stressFULL. You put two and two together and you get 173. Pounds. My height is meant to be about 140. 136 is the low end of a healthy BMI for my height.
I want to lose it. I want it to go away. Not tomorrow, not when my son is weaned. NOW.
Not going to happen. To feed a baby, you have to eat. To have enough milk for multiple babies (I pump extra for other moms) you have to EAT. A doctor once told me “a woman’s body doesn’t fully develop until she’s had children.” It gives me a ray of hope. However, when Aaron’s pants don’t fit me, it’s a tad depressing. So I eat. Did I mention that women in my family genetically store fat in our torso’s? I have skinny arms and a spare ring of blubber, for the winter? Like a seal?
This blog is not going to come to a resoundingly hopeful ending where I pledge to eat vegan and run whilst pushing a stroller. I’m just bored with being a size 14. I would like my size 6 pants back, thank you very much. I would especially like them back before I go to Seattle this Christmas, and stand near my mom and sister, who both work out with a trainer and are literally half my size.
Then I remember how sick formula made Caden. I weaned him when he was 5 months, and my P90X working out and weight watchers dieting (even with the extra points they give nursing moms) caused my milk supply to dissapear. How I wore a towel as a cape for months because every time we bottle fed him he’d projectile vomit.
I looked at Riker while he was nursing tonight, and pinched his little leg rolls of fat. Food from me made those little fat rolls. Outside of half an ounce at the hospital, Riker has never had formula. Riker barely ever throws up, and never has gas or stomach problems. That’s the balm for my ego when I put Aaron’s jeans on just to see if they button, finally. My healthy baby.
I’m thankful for a healthy milk supply and a baby who is thriving, but man oh man, tonight I’d like to be thin.