The Post-Pregnancy 15 {If You’re Lucky}

In the past, weight was never really an issue for me. Sure, I had my curves and could have toned a love handle or two, but I never felt insecure. My six-foot tall frame was good at hiding any extra pounds I might have gained during the holidays, and my young body was always able to stabilize and go back to my standard 165 after only a few weeks of mild activity. If I settled down on the couch with a tub of ice cream in my hands, my mother would remark: “You won’t be doing that when you’re thirty.” I’d fire back with some snarky reply and then dive in, stupidly thinking that even when I was 30, I could get away with demolishing a tub of ice cream in one sitting because my body would be different. I wouldn’t have to work out to stay thin. I could eat whatever I wanted because my body would NEVER betray me. Well, it wasn’t my 30’s that tipped the scale, because as I write this, I’m three days shy of my 30th birthday. It was a baby named Oliver. While he added tons of joy to my life, he also brought 30 extra pounds with him.

195. I hate that number. I see it every time I step on the scale. When I reach for a piece of candy or drink a beer, that number flashes in my mind. 195. I’ll go for a run. 195. I’ll diet and eat very selective meals. 195.

I thought this would be easy. I thought the weight would melt off like everyone told me it would, like it has been doing my whole life.

But, after a painful c-section and dealing with the issue of breast milk that never came in, my easy-fix weight loss plan flew out the window. Four months later, I can still see the extra thirty pounds reflected on every inch of my body. My thighs rub together with every step and I haven’t been able to see or feel my hip bones in months. And that pouch?! This stupid shelf of fat and stretched out skin draped across my belly still prevents me from wearing medium sized shirts. I have had to buy a whole new wardrobe because my clothes are still a bit too snug.  I am slowly starting to hate the person I see in the mirror because my reflection is a daily reminder of how I am letting myself down. I know that I need to make a change, but how can I do it?

It took me awhile, but I am finally realizing that it isn’t just my weight that needs adjusting, I also need to change my terrible attitude.

Why should I punish myself for not quickly losing the weight it took me nine months to gain? If I want to lose this extra weight, I need to get serious about adopting a healthier lifestyle and stop hating myself. A minimum of 30 minutes of daily activity will now become the norm in my household. A gym? I’m going to join one again and actually go. Beer? I’m going to have to give up my treasured weekend beverage of choice and opt for more water instead. It’s time to stop pitying myself and make a change.  I need to be confident with my new body, but I also need to try my hardest to get back where I want to be.

Can you relate? What steps did you take to feel better about yourself post-pregnancy?