Recently one of my favorite bloggers has been writing about her struggles with sugar addiction. Though her situation is certainly more dire than mine (I don't hide goodies and I don't hate vegetables), I find myself relating to an uncomfortable degree. You know how men think about sex every seven seconds? Well, apparently that's a myth. But if it were true, that would be me, except with ice cream. I don't know if it's just because I'm pregnant; honestly, I'm feeling so pregnant right now that I cannot remember anything pre-pregnancy. Did I crave ice cream every second of every day prior to getting knocked up? I have no idea. All I know is that the ice cream monkey is on my back now, and it's not helping my efforts to stay within a healthy weight range. Neither are those M&M's we're supposed to be using only as Simon's potty rewards.
I had an appointment with my midwife a week ago, and we had to check my weight as usual. I had a lot of anxiety about my weigh-in, and with good reason. Even though I exercised a lot during the month, we also had 2 birthday parties for Simon, before, during, and after which I consumed more than my fair share of cupcakes and ice cream. And the scale revealed my indulgences: in the month of March I gained 8 pounds. That's double the recommended amount (1 pound a week, or 4 pounds). Those 8 pounds are in addition to the 30 I had already packed on. With three more months to go, I am almost certainly headed toward a net weight gain of 60 whopping pounds. Good grief.
Carrying Simon I gained a total of about 50 pounds. I was able to eventually lose all of the weight, and then some, but it took a LONG TIME. And a lot of HARD WORK. But I have to say that I am sort of looking forward to the challenge of losing weight again. There is something incredible about shedding that extra skin and finding yourself underneath there. And I mean that in a purely physical sense. I know it will sound weird but it's kind of awesome to put lotion on your legs and think, "Oh, I remember you guys." I'm looking forward to those moments of rediscovery, and to feeling normal again.
But I am a smidge nervous about the process this time around. Will it be just a matter of making time to work out, or will I be fighting some biological force that says, "Hey, you! You --- bearer of TWO children! You think you're losing those last 15 pounds? Ha! I laugh in the face of your optimism! You will never be your svelte self again. Never."
I mean, I just want to know what I'm up against.
On a hopeful note, I think one strong motivator for me will be creating a firm, bicept-y canvas for my next tattoo. I'm really excited about it. I think about it a lot. Almost as much as ice cream. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? No I don't.