Reality Check

I think I have body dysmorphic disorder. You know, the disorder where an 80 lb person sees themselves in the mirror as a 380 lb person. Except mine is backwards. I look in the mirror and think that I look pretty darn good. At least 10 lbs lighter than I really am. This lackadaisical attitude towards my body's current state has left me with a few areas that need attention. This is not good. Something must be done.

I gained a bazillion pounds while pregnant with Beatrice. 48 to be exact. After gaining 10 lbs in the first trimester by bingeing on 5 dollar footlongs everyday, I gave up on trying to be a svelte pregnant woman. I ate 2 breakfasts a day (because 1 was clearly not enough) and frequented our town's beloved Julia's Bakery for petit fours and iced cookies. I quickly gleaned a look that I like to call "fat face" (exhibited below).

I couldn't wait to lose those pounds once I had Beatrice. I was a runner prior to having her and kept it up until I was 6 months along. At that point, it was July and spending my afternoons hauling my fat-faced body through the nearby running trails was less appealing than enjoying gossip TV in the cool air condition with pita chips and hummus resting on my burgeoning belly. I told myself that as soon as she was born, I'd be out there once again, sweating and working off the weight.

I lost the baby weight in about 4 months. It took longer than I planned but I did NOTHING to lose it, except nurse. I ate a ton and laid around a lot. Breast feeding makes me insatiably hungry, I think I eat more now as a nursing mother than when I was pregnant. Once I lost it and all of my "skinny clothes" started to fit again, I started feeling pretty good about the way that I looked. It had been a year since I had been able to stuff my body into my jeans so it felt like I had a new wardrobe to boot. Since I could wear all of my clothes again and the weight was gone, there didn't seem to be much of a reason to work out anymore. I mean I took care of a baby ALL BY MYSELF for 12 hours a day, I was exhausted. I worked out by climbing the stairs eleventy billion times to change diapers for crying out loud. Plus, every time I did try to start P90X, my milk supply took a hit. 

I don't look terrible. There is definitely a lot more wiggle in my step these days. But last night, I ate 5 pieces of pizza and gained a pound and a half. Oops. I blame the breast feeding and that insatiable hunger thing. So here I am, 28 years old with a wardrobe to covet, a hot husband who prefers hot women (he better only prefer this woman if he knows what's good for him), a love of exercise and health, and no more excuses for the way that I have "let myself go." I need to get over this attitude of "not looking that bad" and start exercising or I will do as the old saying goes.....use it or lose it.