When I was 19, I weighed 115 pounds. Of course, that was the last time I weighed 115 pounds. That year I became pregnant, and my body changed forever.
With that pregnancy, I gained 50 pounds. Eventually I took most of it back off. And when I got married, I could fit into a size 4. It was fantastic.
Then I got pregnant. Again. And Again. And...you get where I'm going with this, right? I get pregnant, I gain weight. A lot of it. So, when I stepped on the scale after Brennan was born and realized that I was dangerously close to 200 pounds, I decided something had to change.
While I've looked for a diet that involves lots of Dove chocolate and sitting around watching TV with my kids, I've yet to find it. And, please, if you can sit around eating chocolate with your kids and still be slim and vibrant, don't tell me. You're another person I like to pretend is imaginary.
So, I've started doing the reasonable thing. Cutting back intake, and working out. So, how do you know when you've had a good workout? Well, tonight the sweat running down my chest and my muscles turning to jello was my sign. So far, I've lost 4 pounds. That doesn't sound like much, and I'm probably nuts, but I like to think I can feel myself shrinking.
I have told myself all kinds of things. Like I'm not that big, or that my kids love a soft mama. But I'm not healthy, and I don't feel good about the way I look. I think not being active enough makes my depression worse, and I certainly don't need that.
I don't long to be 115 pounds anymore. It wouldn't be healthy for me now. But I do long to be able to run around after my kids without getting winded and tired. I long to not want to cry when I shop for clothes. I long to be healthy again.