I think I just had a huge endorphin rush when I opened this new post. So much to share... where shall I start?
The Good
The Bad
I went shopping for clothes on Sunday, as I no longer own pants that both zip and fit. I've been wearing maternity pants ever since I went back to work last month, and it's getting a bit ridic.
However, it made me sadspice to purchase pants in a double digit size. Gone are the lovely size 6 and 8 pants that I was able to wear this time last year. Hello, size 14.
That's right, I said it. Size 14.
Now, before you dub me a vain cow instead of just a cow, keep in mind that while I was in college I gained the freshman 15 during each of my four years. Back in 2002, I weighed more than I did when I went into labor in 2010. I spent the better part of my twenties losing my college weight. I did not want those pounds back.
(I should have thought more about that while I was feeding my pregnant face with cheese danish.)
So, anywaddle, after my Sunday shopping spree, my love handles and I were not feeling incredibly pleased with ourselves. I decided not to wear my new outfit to work on Monday. Instead, I slid into my comfy maternity clothes per usual.
It was midmorning when I waited on a customer who doesn't come in that often -- but often enough that we'd talked about my pregnancy at some point.
So, I stood up to take her deposit and she said, "Oh, WOW! You're really pregnant. I didn't notice it last time but..."
I just started typing in numbers and refused to make eye contact with her. I wasn't going to say anything.
But, she went on.
"When are you duuuuuueee?!"
I still didn't really meet her eyes. I just said quietly, "Actually, I already had her."
"You did?! How old is she?"
"She's three and a halfmothereffing months."
She told me that she hadn't meant to offend me, and that it was really just my huge boobs that made her think I was waypreggo.
"Are you nursing?"
"Can we please stop talking?"
Yeah, I went in the restroom and cried after she left. I cried because if I'd had on my stupid size 14 pants and a shirt that wasn't all flow-y, then I probably wouldn't have looked pregnant. I cried because I hate my babybellyfatflab but I haven't hated it enough to stop getting Wendy's breakfast on a bi-weekly basis.
I cried because I've gained 5 pounds of my lost baby weight since I went back to work.
I keep making jokes like, "I have to stop eating my feelings!" But, it's secretly true. (Plus, I have all these coupons for free Wendy's breakfast sandwiches with a purchase. So, it's been really economical to emotionally eat.)
Le sigh. Also, I turned 30 March 2nd.
P.S. I don't think this is post-partum depression. I think this is a normal reaction to gaining a boatload of weight and not having the disposable income needed to update my closet with a chic plus size wardrobe. I need more than one pair of size 14's.
Anyone have extra big girl pants they can mail to me?
The Good
The Bad
I went shopping for clothes on Sunday, as I no longer own pants that both zip and fit. I've been wearing maternity pants ever since I went back to work last month, and it's getting a bit ridic.
However, it made me sadspice to purchase pants in a double digit size. Gone are the lovely size 6 and 8 pants that I was able to wear this time last year. Hello, size 14.
That's right, I said it. Size 14.
Now, before you dub me a vain cow instead of just a cow, keep in mind that while I was in college I gained the freshman 15 during each of my four years. Back in 2002, I weighed more than I did when I went into labor in 2010. I spent the better part of my twenties losing my college weight. I did not want those pounds back.
(I should have thought more about that while I was feeding my pregnant face with cheese danish.)
So, anywaddle, after my Sunday shopping spree, my love handles and I were not feeling incredibly pleased with ourselves. I decided not to wear my new outfit to work on Monday. Instead, I slid into my comfy maternity clothes per usual.
It was midmorning when I waited on a customer who doesn't come in that often -- but often enough that we'd talked about my pregnancy at some point.
So, I stood up to take her deposit and she said, "Oh, WOW! You're really pregnant. I didn't notice it last time but..."
I just started typing in numbers and refused to make eye contact with her. I wasn't going to say anything.
But, she went on.
"When are you duuuuuueee?!"
I still didn't really meet her eyes. I just said quietly, "Actually, I already had her."
"You did?! How old is she?"
"She's three and a half
She told me that she hadn't meant to offend me, and that it was really just my huge boobs that made her think I was waypreggo.
"Are you nursing?"
Yeah, I went in the restroom and cried after she left. I cried because if I'd had on my stupid size 14 pants and a shirt that wasn't all flow-y, then I probably wouldn't have looked pregnant. I cried because I hate my babybellyfatflab but I haven't hated it enough to stop getting Wendy's breakfast on a bi-weekly basis.
I cried because I've gained 5 pounds of my lost baby weight since I went back to work.
I keep making jokes like, "I have to stop eating my feelings!" But, it's secretly true. (Plus, I have all these coupons for free Wendy's breakfast sandwiches with a purchase. So, it's been really economical to emotionally eat.)
Le sigh. Also, I turned 30 March 2nd.
P.S. I don't think this is post-partum depression. I think this is a normal reaction to gaining a boatload of weight and not having the disposable income needed to update my closet with a chic plus size wardrobe. I need more than one pair of size 14's.
Anyone have extra big girl pants they can mail to me?
Comments
(I struggle with weight too, so I know it's hard to actually believe that stuff, but you can!)
It takes 9 full months to get off all that you packed on in 9 months. Remember that.
It will come off. Breastfeeding is nature's fat-sucker. Hang in there. Walk when you can. But when my son was 3 months old I felt EXACTLY as you did-- fat and that it would never come off. But it does. It did.
However, I am jazzed thinking about those enormous boobs of yours.