I'm the biggest girl in the room. Maybe not always. And maybe not always literally, but I feel like it always, and that's all that matters. For awhile, I wasn't. It was nice. But there's really no denying it now. I'm back to my college weight.
That's not a good thing, team.
I'll do you one better. I'm back to my pregnancy weight. Post-pregnancy. After having lost an immediate 20 or so, it's all back. But not in a cute preggo way, in a sloppy, fat-faced way. The self-loathing is super attractive, too.
The worst part is that my daughter is starting to understand more of what we say and I keep letting disparaging comments slip. I can't do that. I don't want her to have these issues. I would rather she have weight than a weight problem, do you know what I mean?
The second-worst part is that I've lost significant weight before, wrongly giving some people the idea that it must be easy to do it. Just work out! Just eat right! Oh, really? Is that what works? No kidding, didn't know. Except there's no time in the day, seldom time in the week, to exercise. Unless I did it between 8 and 9pm and you know what, I'm just needing to sit for that hour. I bought an elliptical machine, figuring that if it is in the house, I'll HAVE to use it, right? Wrong. I've used it two times since it's January 6 purchase date. I have 4 days left to return it for a refund and I think I should do so.
I did go to the gym for the first time in probably 18 months or so about two week ago. It. Was. Bliss. I spent way too long on the elliptical there and felt like crap the next few days, but oh my god, the endorphins during and after that work out were a heavenly high. It felt like living a bit of history - a throwback to younger, carefree days.
But it's not about exercise. It's about food. I eat food. I eat a lot of food. I don't want to use the word binge, exactly, but there's no denying the intense emotional connection to food since returning to work. To borrow a friend's explanation, I can't control most things in my life right now, but I can control this giant deli sandwich and I can control it right into my mouth. And these cheetos. And these mochas. And those scones. And the goddamn candy recently purchased for the office. And the donuts. And pretty much anything I can get my hands on. I eat it. Because I can do it at my desk. Because plenty of stuff TOTALLY tastes as good as thin feels. I'm out of control, and I know it.
Oh, I'm also still paying for a weight-watchers membership that I haven't used since before Christmas. So I'm good with money, too.
Truthfully, though WW has worked wonders for many close friends, I hate it. I abhor it. I abhor that people bring their kids to it. I abhor the way I end up OBSESSING over points. Eating them, not eating them, logging them. hate hate hate.
And dinner at my house consists of foraging for crap or bring home crap. It's not good. And neither is (and this is NOT blame, it's a statement of fact) having a husband who's never had to worry about weight a day in his life. More cheese and biscuits for everyone!
But it's just me. There's no outside force to blame. Not the baby. Not my husband. I am too weak to refrain from eating and too lazy to fit in a workout. Too undisciplined with my baby to separate her from me for any time during the evening or on weekends. And then there's that word just again. Why can't I just make time to do these things? Just make time for myself.
I don't know. What I do know is this: I'm not looking forward to my college reunion in April. But at least I can keep my baby on my very large hip as a prop: See, classmates! I'm fat for a reason now. Guess I can and will blame the baby. Sorry, baby.