Yes, Colette is here! She is already 10 weeks old. How did that happen?! She’s lovely, and chubby in all the right places. And she definitely has my cheeks. In fact, it’s hard to tell whose chipmunk cheeks are bigger right now, hers—or mine.
Unfortunately, I’m not one of those lucky women for whom breastfeeding is the magic post-pregnancy weight-loss trick. No, not me. I’m the woman whose body hangs onto every last ounce of body fat until she stops nursing. Who knows exactly why this is. All I know is that this is my third time around, and I know what to expect. So, I’m not going waste a minute worrying about my weight or walking endless (useless) miles to lose it.
I will just wait. The weight will come off when my body is ready. Until then, I will feed my baby and, I suppose, eat.
Since Colette has arrived, I’ve been a little obsessed with food.
I find myself lecturing about licorice.
I post to Facebook (or resist the urge to post to Facebook) about what I’ve eaten or what I’m craving.
If I don’t eat two eggs for breakfast, by noon my hands start to tremble and my mind starts going berserk. Feed me, feed me! My body says. I start shoving bananas and anything with peanut butter into my mouth. It’s a sight to see, I’m sure. (Or not.)
Getting dressed these days is a real challenge, too. Such decisions…Will it be yoga pants, yoga pants or yoga pants today? If I happen to be getting dressed on a day when I might leave the house, well then, the options are: dress, dress or dress.
Nothing with a waistband will fit, you see.
The other night at dinner, Joe made the comment (I can’t remember now if it was directed towards himself or me) about having to unbutton pants. “Believe me,” I joked. “If I could fit into pants with buttons, I’m sure I’d have to unbutton them right now.”
Lately I find myself inspecting my meals to make sure I haven’t been shorted somehow. That buffalo chicken salad from down the street? It better have enough chicken on it, or somebody is GOING TO PAY.
I’m usually dishing myself seconds, and sometimes thirds. I’m pretty sure I could out-eat Joe at this point.
Joe’s a good sport, though. This morning he coached the donut house guy on how to make a Boston Cream donut, and then came home with my very own, specially made, calorie-packed circle of heaven.
Speaking of donuts, sometimes I catch myself day-dreaming of iced-coffee…
Last night at my friend’s house, my five-foot-nothing friend was fixing me a drink. She opened her dishwasher and stood on the corner of it to grab a glass out of the top shelf of her cabinet. Cute and creative, right?
I laughed and said, “If I ever tried to do that, we’d be shopping for a new dishwasher.”
On second thought…
Yoga hurts lately, too. And not in any of the normal “good” ways, or in any of the normal “good” places. Yoga hurts whenever I bend and my overhanging belly gets in the way. There’s no baby in there anymore, but I’m pretty sure she’s been replaced by an alien with an out-of-this-world appetite. And the alien does NOT like Halasana.
One time at church I was looking for a place to nurse the baby, and decided I’d go up to the balcony where it was warm and quiet. The pastor’s wife said, “Oh no, you don’t want to go up there. The pews don’t have any padding up there; it won’t be comfortable.”
I said, “Don’t worry, I have enough padding of my own.”
Maybe a little too hard?
It’s okay. My feelings aren’t hurt. I’m heavy, and I am happy. I’m curvy, and I’m confident. I’m actually, in a weird way, proud of the extra pounds.
I’m feeding my baby. I am solely responsible for her nourishment and survival. And it’s an amazing feeling. What a tremendous gift and blessing it is to be the one person providing all the sustenance and nutrition she needs to live and grow. It is quite spectacular to think that for nine months inside of my body and then for six months afterwards, I am keeping her alive.
So, I guess I’ll keep my chipmunk cheeks for now. They’re for a wonderful, beautiful cause. And one day, I’ll teach Colette that her body is special and miraculous, too.