On Sunday we ran errands, which is always interesting with our little buddy. (Now, all errands generally involve a diaper blow-out, because I think Hendrik just enjoys effing with his parents.)
J waited in the car with the babe whilst I ran into Target. I had only a few items to pick up:
- a digital scale
- a one-piece swimsuit
- a cover-up, Jesus Christ cellulite jiggly bits
We needed a scale, as our old-school Ikea one was falling apart, and desperately inaccurate. I figured it would help me get back on track, and bonus: we can weigh the boy, which helps with my piece of mind.I am not sure why I needed the suit. I was thinking I was going to finally swim in the pool at the gym. Honestly? I am frightened of the pool at the gym. I mean, I am just not a very strong swimmer (I have no form), and there are typically a lot of elderly people wearing swim caps in that pool. Also, I haven't been to the gym in five months. Still. I have plans, people.
I grabbed a MEDIUM, non-descript, brown one-piece, made sure it was returnable, and brought it home to try on (there is no time to try on a swimsuit with a 4 week-old infant pooping in the car). Also, Target lets you return bathing suits. Gross, Target.Dudes: I grabbed a MEDIUM. The size I mostly wore pre-pregnancy. When I was about 22 pounds lighter.
Stuffed sausage, party of one.
"Oh," I mumbled to J as I waddled into the bathroom to get a good look at my form. "I guess it will be awhile before I wear this, huh?"
"Why did you buy that? Because you are a mom now, you need to wear a one-piece?"
(Aside: maybe. I mean, because I am a mom now, I understand reverse mullets, y'all. They must be damn convenient. I have blown dry my hair once since May 15th.)
"No, J! I had to buy it on account of my pooch!"
Oh, my pooch.
I mean, I know I gained a ridiculous amount of weight during my pregnancy. I am thankful to be down 23 pounds or so. Alas! Would that this pooch would just melt away on its own! Then I could continue to eat copious amounts of chocolate chip cookies and pizza and cheeseburgers, and have my old flat belly and wear pencil skirts. I need to wear pencil skirts! What about the PENCIL SKIRTS?!?
Apparently, I think I can carry around an extra 22 L-Bs and still maintain my old size. I also believe that my pre-prego jeans should fit, as I torture myself by trying them on periodically. They don't make it past my KNEES! Gah!
I am going to have to get serious, for the love of Bob Harper. My problem? I am not sure how to this whilst breastfeeding. My initial inclination is to cut out chocolate (which is also a win for my gassy, reflux-y offspring), and processed sugars. To stick with fruits, veggies, and whole grains.
Easier said than done when you're caring for a tiny infant, and all you want to do is eat all of the M&Ms. (Crap - what did I do with those M&Ms?)
And so we begin, folks. I am saying this: in two months time, I would like to be down at least 16 pounds. I feel like 2 pounds per week is realistic for nursing, though I know I can't do any major calorie-restriction, I can amp up my diet and haul my ass to the gym.
Also? I need to buy some new pants. I can't live in maternity jeans for the next 2 months. It's uncivilized. I am sure I will hyperventilate when I learn my new non-pregnant size, but thems the breaks. Hendrik is well-worth the body woes, y'know?
(Oh, here's a charming little anecdote to start your weekend. Last Saturday, J and I got all dressed up and took Hendrik to dinner on Main Street. I was wearing this dress, and I asked J, "So, how pregnant do I look now?" He gave me the once-over, and said, "Well, you didn't start showing until month 4... so I'd say... Like, 25 weeks pregnant?" Me at 25 weeks pregnant. LORD.)