Greek Easter came and went, and left me with a couple kilos more (on top of another 30 or so that shouldn’t be there). So I’ve made a HUGE decision, and I’m sharing it here so I feel accountable for it.
I’ll start seeing a nutritionist. My first appointment in on Thursday.
I’ve been chubby all my life, sometimes crossing the line to obese, but always coming back from it within a couple months.
When I met my husband up close, I had a balloon full of saline in my stomach, to keep me from overeating. It worked, I lost 17 kilos, and then I took it out but managed to maintain my weight for two years.
And then we got married, and I realized I couldn’t cook for just two people, so between the two of us, we ate for three.
My Love was skinny at the time, and I kept feeding him, but somehow by the time I got pregnant a year later, he’d only gained six kilos while I’d packed on ten.
I was good during my pregnancy, only gaining eleven kilos, which I lost in the three months after I gave birth, but then my thyroid decided to be an ass about it (I’ve been on meds for it since I was sixteen, and had it under control till then). While other women lose weight while they breastfeed, I “found” another twelve kilos. To save you from doing the math, nineteen months after I gave birth, I weighed twenty-two kilos more than on my wedding day. My love kept the 6 I force-fed into him. Stupid male metabolism. *eyeroll*
And then I gained another eight just ’cause.
The greatest percentage of my day is spent sitting on my sizable ass, in front of a PC screen, which doesn’t really help with weight loss, but it’s not like I made a concentrated effort.
On the plus side, in the seven and a half years since I got married, I learned to believe in myself, see my strengths, and love my weakness even as I try to overcome them. My fashion sense evolved, and my fear of what others might say melted away. Most importantly, my blood tests always came back perfect, so my weight wasn’t affecting my health. Except than when I tripped, I broke my ankle, which probably wouldn’t have happened if I was slimmer.
Having a husband who says you’re always gorgeous really helps with seeing yourself in a positive light, especially if he goes out of his way to make you feel wanted when you think you look like an amorphous blob. I’m lucky to have such a guy by my side, but my learning to love my body, extra half-a-person of weight and all, was more a result of realizing what others think has no bearing on my life. Seriously, even if they pointed and laughed when I went outside, they couldn’t affect my life.
When my son told me his classmate X said I was chubby and that he defended me, saying I was losing weight, I told him to never feel like he has to apologize for me. All he should care about is what kind of mom I am, not what I look like. And I meant it.
But then I tried to chase my kid when we were playing, and I was short of breath. And then I realized my heart rate was elevated all the time. And that my feet hurt too often at the end of the day. And then I had some issues with my back… I’ll be forty next year, and I want to be able to run after my son and walk up a couple flights of stairs without panting. And I want to not worry about having a heart attack in the middle of the night–though that may the writer’s brain at work, since my cardiologist said my issues will be fixed with diet and daily walking. So I’m gonna give it a solid try.
I’m now a size US 16. Ask me again in two months.
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