So I bare my soul yesterday -- OK, my pants size, but the same level of importance -- and I've heard not a *word* in response. Are you all stunned into silence that I was such a fatty?
Let me tell you a little story:
When my best friend was pregnant, she ate family-sized trays of Stouffer's mac-and-cheese and gained 60 pounds. Et moi? I ate right, watched my calories, gave up ice cream halfway through my pregnancy (inside joke), and gained 60 pounds. Granted, the kid weighed nearly nine-and-a-half at birth, so plenty of it was baby-related, but even so? What a p*sser. Plus, during labor they stuffed me full of IV fluids so for days afterwards I looked like the first zeppelin ever to calve.
Unavoidable, but regrettable nonetheless.This new-baby weight in addition to my just-married 20 pounds? Ugh. Paging Fatty McFatterton.
At seven months post-partum I got honest and serious. This extra load is unneccessary and even maybe dangerous. If I got pregnant again, what the h*ll would I wear? Time to dump all the junk from the trunk.
(Of course, it's perfectly FINE if you're post-partum and you're not there yet. My baby's been sleeping through the night for more than three months, so I'm almost as caught up on my rest as I'll ever be. That helps, a lot. Plus, I work for a company that imports exercises and exercise equipment, so it behooves me to learn as much as I can about our product, and it's so much more productive to learn by doing.)
In conclusion: my buddy is in the throes of a medically supervised weight-loss program, by the end of which he will have shed a whole... him. His inspiration is that a lot of really overweight people, after dieting, remain fat. Smaller, but fat. If he's gonna do it, he said, he's going to do it all the way. And I'll have what he's having (but without the nasty "milk"-shakes).