crazies of a chubby girl

This morning I weighed in at 175.  Curiously, rather than feeling glad or excited that I'd dropped another couple of pounds, I felt a flash of depression and anxiety.  It took me a whole 30 seconds to figure it out.

After Darius, I stopped losing weight at 170 because of a whole bunch of silly reasons, mostly unintentional self-sabotage.  I also spent a sizable portion of my teenage years at 175.  Sooooo, I'm paranoid that I'm going to stop losing weight and be stuck at this currently, rather squishy weight. Which, let's be honest, is not the worst thing in the world.  That being said, I have this deep-set fear that unless I get myself to a really healthy weight I'll end up contracting diabetes like pretty much everyone in my family over the age of 35.  Add in my dad's multiple hernias (midline and hiatal) that are complicated by his weight, and I REALLY want to lose the weight. Like, yesterday. 

Of course, I wanted to lose weight before I ever had kids, but that was because I had this tummy bulge that I didn't like.  Now I just have the generally rounded shape of a woman who's had 2 children in quick succession.  I don't expect to ever be a lingerie model, I just want to be healthy.

Which, come to think of it, is kind of funny coming from someone who is known to eat cookies for breakfast and ice cream for lunch. Not on the same day, though.  Like that makes it better.

Anyway! I finished my math class today, and am free of formulas until January! Hooray!

minimize

This morning, I weighed in at 183.4. While this is a great improvement over 204 (my bringing-home-baby weight, which is just depressing to admit to) it's a far cry from where I want and even need to be.

I have discovered 2 important elements to continued weight loss. One, losing half a pound does NOT mean that I am allowed to eat 17 cookies. Nuh uh. Pigging out is not allowed, although I'm a firm believer that there ought to be moderation in all things. 3 cookies is ok, 23 is not. Two, occasional exercise, when combined with the calorie-consuming powerhouse that is a breastfed infant, is a wonderful thing.

After Darius was born, I plateaued at 170 because of the cookie trap. Never again!

So. Minimum goal- 155. Goal of Awesome- 135 (which I haven't weighed since I was like, 10). Git er done!!

the fat chick

I feel fat now.

Considering my BMI when I got pregnant, every medical person I come into contact with has told me not to gain more than 15-25 pounds and given me the fish eye when they see my current weight. It's like I'm purposefully sitting around eating cookies all day. Um, no. One of my husband's favorite pastimes is to get on my case about how often I eat- or don't, as the case may be.

I try and take Button for a walk every day, and go about a half mile or so pushing a heavily laden stroller. The past couple days I've started getting achy in my lower abdomen, which is worrisome.

The last thing I want is to gain a ton of weight, like I did with my previous pregnancy. It seems that I'm going to anyway, simply because my body thinks it's a good idea. I mean, I've had a hard time maintaining a healthy weight for my entire life. It sucks.

Having my darling, wonderful husband tell me now to worry about it, doesn't help. I know he doesn't care, much, but this bothers me.

Pregnancy sucks. The end.