You know it’s been WAY too long since you last went to the gym when your “workout” clothes (aka your painting clothes) are snugger than they have ever been. And when the scale in the locker room confirms that you have gained more than 10 pounds since you last stood on that scale and wondered if could be wrong.
I was beginning to get a little suspicious that perhaps I’d gained even more weight this fall (you know, on top of the postpartum weight I gained thanks to sleep deprivation and a bottomless breastfeeding appetite) because it seemed that my pants, which had been washed and dried many, many times, suddenly started shrinking. What kind of self-respecting stretch-corduroy does that? It was a total mystery.
So in November, I quit my Farmer’s Market Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookie habit cold turkey (if you don’t have them in your part of the world, I’m sorry). I figured I would see immediate results because some days all I snacked on were those cookies. But it’s been at least six weeks, probably more, and if anything my pants are getting tighter. (Of course, it was around the same time that I set out to drink a lot more wine in preparation for the possibility that one day I may not be able to drink wine for at least nine months. That *could* have something to do with the mysterious shrinking waistband.) Last weekend I was all set to sink back into the cookies since the deprivation was clearly doing no good, but the damn grocery store was sold out. The nerve!
I’ve been hesitant to blog about my growing size for a few reasons. For one thing, there are a lot more interesting things to blog about. And for another, I believe very strongly and will advocate to the death that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, and anyone who doesn’t see that needs to adjust their lenses. I worried that admitting to wanting to lose weight would compromise that belief. I also feel very strongly that feeling bad about your weight is solved by dealing with the bad feelings not the weight, and I didn’t want to become just another blogger trying to lose weight. I realized today, however, that wanting to lose weight doesn't have to equal feeling bad about your body.
I don’t feel bad about my excess weight. It’s been a hard summer and fall, and I probably did a lot of emotional eating. So much was changing it felt like we were bobbing down white water, just trying to keep from drowning. Despite this weekend’s drama, and the drama that will no doubt continue in that vein, and the fact that Swee’pea’s bedtime battles are worse than in a long time (when am I EVER going to be able to change my damn profile description?!?) I’m starting to feel like perhaps there is a raft beneath us and a paddle in my hands, and maybe I can start to steer now. So I felt good that I was at the gym and taking my wellness back into my hands. Not only that, but in the six months since I was last there, they’ve expanded their dance class offerings from belly dance to hip hop and African dance. So count me in.