See there in the title? I made a funny. This is the post about losing baby weight. And the blog is called The Waiting. Get it?
I kill myself sometimes.
So, yeah, having just had a baby, I gained some weight. Some. A lot. Whatever. By the end of my pregnancy with Miss C I had gained 45 pounds. Not too shabby, eh? I really packed it on during the third trimester and I’ve got the stretch marks to prove it. I’ll admit that they are kind of gross and road mappish, but since I’ve never been a bikini-wearer in the first place, I’m not concerned about them. They’ll fade away eventually. I actually kind of like the idea of them serving as a souvenir of my pregnancy. Is that weird?
At my postpartum visit to the OB last Thursday, I was weighed and I’ve lost 15 pounds since right before Miss C came, which I think sounds dead-on. I also got the go ahead to start intense cardio and strength training again, so right after I left the doctor’s office, I made a b-line to the local YMCA and joined up. I went three times last week and burned about 500 calories during each visit.
I am not someone who enjoys and relishes working out. Just not. I like the way I feel afterwards with the rise of happy endorphins and all, but the act of exercising itself is not pleasurable for me in-and-of-itself. I wish I could be one of those people who goes out running and just loses herself in it; B is, and I’m jealous of him for it. But right now the main incentive for me to go to the gym has nothing to do with sweating it out. I’m going because I don’t want to have to replace all my pre-preggo clothes and because I need to have an activity that I do without Miss C. There’s a nursery/daycare there but the idea of leaving her on all the germ-covered equipment among nasty germy kids makes me cringe, especially when her squeaky-clean dad is more than willing to hang out with her at home while I go. So she’ll stay with him.
I want to lose 40 pounds in addition to what I’ve already lost (and I don’t count those 15 pounds because they were all Miss C, placenta, and water weight.) Forty sounds good because it will bring me to ten pounds below what I weighed before I was pregnant, which I could have stood to lose back then anyway. I figure that as long as I’m losing weight, I may as well bite the bullet and lose those extra ten pounds as well.
I’m giving myself ten months to lose it because it took me ten months to put it on. I’m kind of dreading this whole process because it requires a level of commitment that I don’t really know if I have as of yet, but I’m hoping that working out and my continued commitment to breastfeeding Miss C will make me less of a saggy baggy elephant. And I’m sagging, boy oh boy.
This month also marks the one-year anniversary of my last haircut. Yeah, I know. I have gone without even a trim since May of 2011, and I’m kind of embarrassed about that. I have had super short hair since I cut it off in 2000, and I guess by others’ standards my hair is still short (it’s now a little past my shoulders), but to me it’s long and I HATE it. I feel like Pedro in Napoleon Dynamite because I’m hot all the time and I just want to shave my head.
But don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going to.
She reads my blog and likes my hair long and is not afraid to tell me. Come to think of it, so does B. However, he chooses his battles with me well so he doesn’t put forth energy into convincing me to keep it the length that it is. Such is the fostering of a happy spouse.
But I need a new look, but not because I’m a mom now. OK, so maybe it’s a little bit because I am a mom now. So sue me. I’m thinking something like this:
NOT mom hair. But even if it were, this makes it worth it:
I’d stay an elephant forever, get a heinous haircut, and even don mom jeans for this gal.