Wanderlust

Memoirs on Mommihood: Part X

Weighing on My Mind

I try never to step on a scale. It's a kindness I do myself as a woman. This is not to say that I am oblivous to my physique, but I prefer to use the measure of my size 7 Lucky jeans. If they fit too snugly, it's time to lay off the HoHos and walk an extra lap around the block until they stop constricting the flow of blood to my limbs. Otherwise, I don't sweat it. I exercise frequently and lift weights several times a week to keep the jiggle at bay. The arbitrary numbers on the scale don't frighten me anymore, although I have been known to go into fits of neurotic behavior in the past over impending weddings, birthdays and after any run in with an ex boyfriend or an estranged father. You know. Normal girl stuff.

Pregnancy took my normality and set it on its head. Because, you see, it's not normal to treat your body as a human incubator. There are consequences to be suffered. Some of them (please God, no!) might be rather PERMANENT. But I was determined that the 50 pounds I gained in the last nine months wasn't going to be one of them. Yes, that's right. 5...0. Let me explain why I sound so complacent about that rather large number.

Let's head back circa college years. I began college as a size 9. I ended it as a size 14. I have a combination of forces to thank for this, including those 2 am pints of Ben and Jerry's and all those Grand Slams the morning after. At my heaviest, I was only five pounds shy of what I weighed when Owen was born. So, I'm not afraid. I've been down this road before and those big bad numbers that oscilate before me on the scale don't scare me. Now Billy Blanks- he scares me. And clowns. But that's besides the point.

The point is that I've battled my weight before and won. And I don't intend this time to be any different, although I'll have sleep exhaustion and a pooping, screaming, spitup machine to contend with as well. When I went to my postpartum visit, I discovered I had already dropped 30 pounds in the six weeks since Owen was born. And while those Lucky size 7's don't zip up yet, these last twenty pounds that are circling my hips, thighs and stomach don't seem like such a Heruclean feat. And for all those folks out there, men and women, who seem to think that once you have a baby you have doomed yourself to a life of wearing frumpy shirts that hide your middle and a droopy ass, I have one thing to say. Not me mother fuckers.

Just give me until July. Or until Owen starts sleeping through the night. Whichever comes first.

Posted by Kaz at March 9, 2006 6:50 PM