So I have a doctor's appointment today, and I know what she's going to tell me: I need to lose weight. My stomach sinks in dread just thinking about it.
Somewhere along the line, I grew to believe that my weight, like my cavities at the dentist, are some kind of moral, personal failing. Like genes had nothing to do with it. That if I was a more food-virtuous person, I could be skinny like my mother.
Now, having a baby isn't exactly easy on the body, and I didn't ever say no to those food cravings I had while I was pregnant. And now that my body is producing milk, I find myself hungry a lot of the time. I try to eat decent snacks, but now that I'm not eating dairy, it's hard to find easy, healthy, satisfying snacks and meals. And when you're holding a crying baby trying to decide what to eat, you pick easy every time.
Not to say I haven't been making an effort to lose my baby weight; I've been walking on the treadmill or at our local park almost every day. And pumping should burn some calories, too. But when I step on that scale today, I know I won't be proud of the number. Just writing about it is kind of getting me down.
I wish I had something pithy or hopeful to write at the end of my blog today, but I just don't. I'll keep making whatever efforts I can squeeze into my mommy life, but this here is my body, and there's only so much it can take. So if I only get 5 hours of sleep a night, I'll have to have my coffee. And if I have 15 minutes to prepare and eat my lunch, it had better be fast and it had better stick with me. *sigh*
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