There are MILLIONS of women across the United States that have given birth. And of those MILLIONS, there are still MILLIONS of us that are unhappy with our bodies. It’s no joke, growing a baby wreaks havoc on your body. I gained anywhere from fifteen to forty pounds every time I was pregnant.
So here is the question I pose: When does baby weight become just plain fat?
I love and adore my daughters. They are truly my sunshine--most days, anyway ... After every birth, I’ve lost some of the weight. Usually not ALL of it, though. And, I still have yet to lose the weight gained from carrying my youngest.
I’m not gonna lie, I’m a weak-minded person. I don’t have much as far as willpower and self-discipline. (Hello? Can’t say no to my husband, remember?) If I want a piece of chocolate cake with double fudge frosting, odds are, I’m gonna eat it.
I try to exercise everyday, on top of my normal physical activity chasing kids and dogs around. So, while I’m not LOSING weight, at least I’m not GAINING any, either. As of my last weigh in, I am about forty-five pounds overweight. That’s obese, people! Yikes!
Seeing as my youngest daughter is three, has too much time passed for me to call it baby weight? I know, I’m pulling at some pretty flimsy strings trying to blame this on pregnancy. But come on, if I say it was the baby, then it can’t be MY fault, right?
I ask, because (1) I really wish I could still call it baby weight, and (2) I know someone that was incredibly overweight at the age of sixteen and tried to convince everyone that she was still heavy from when she actually WAS a baby. I think they made a saying for her: “That’s not baby fat, that’s just FAT BABY.”
That was harsh, sorry, but while I’m just being silly, she was serious.
Losing weight on my own is hard! Kudos to everyone that is able to do it. I have so much admiration and respect for people that can lose weight by eating right and exercising. I think about not having chips and soda, and I have a physical reaction. My heart starts racing and I begin to panic. Yes, the idea of not having junk food gives me anxiety.
And here we are, back at willpower again. I wish it were that easy for me to cut out sugar and carbs. I would be SO much smaller if it were. But, alas, it’s not. (I’m the fatty on the couch watching The Biggest Loser, while chowing on buttery popcorn. Sad face ... ) I learned about this new concept that seems to be working for me, though: Portion sizes.
Did you know there are certain AMOUNTS of food that you’re supposed to eat? And crazy enough, 16 ounces of Ribeye steak is too much. Dang. No, seriously, I’ve started watching my portions. I’m weighing and measuring, and putting food on a smaller plate. I’ve been doing it so long that my stomach has stopped complaining about not being constantly stretched to the limit. That huge steak? Now it’s two meals-SCORE!
But I digress. I guess they say that it took about nine months to put on the weight, so you should count on about that long to take all the weight off. Since my nine months was over two years ago, I think I might be pushing the baby weight claim.
This is my story, though; I’m gonna stick to it. At least until someone calls, “Shenanigans!” And after that, I guess I will have to start making dates with Tony Horton. I hope that’s still a ways down the road ... I’m not in the mood to “bring it” any time soon. (another sad face ...)