So here’s the deal. This has nothing to do with running, biking, or swimming. Prepare yourself.
I went to the doctor’s yesterday. It was my yearly ‘chick check-up’. No biggie. I was excited to talk to my doctor about my recent engagement, our decision for me to stop taking birth control, and all of the fun wedding plans that we have in the works. Since I only see her once a year, there was a lot of catching up to do. I showed her my NFP charts, and she said that everything looks good.
…hooray!…
However.
Just before the wonderful bill of health and her fervent, “WELL, it sure looks like you’ll know when and how to get pregnant!”…
I was weighed.
On that damn Godforsaken doctor’s office (((clink, clink, clink….slide slide slide…clink…whirrrrrr))) scale. I hate it. I’ve always hated it. It takes me back to those bitchass group physicals that we had in 7th and 8th grade gym class. All of us wearing our paper gowns together, waiting to be weighed on that bitchass scale. In front of everyone else. And, we were thisclose to each other in the tiny locker room, so everyone could see everyone else’s weight.
p.s…I might have had a few therapy sessions that revolved around this experience. I know…shocker.
In any case, I was weighed.
I didn’t really know how much I weighed up until this point because I never weigh myself. I do know, however, that the way I looked last year around this time…
Now that's a terrible picture.
Is not the same as I look this year…
I mean, this is no crazy drastic change or anything, but let’s just say that the winter of 2008 was hard on your girl. I was a little ‘xtra in the middle’. My clothes fit much better this year.
Since I don’t own a scale, I really couldn’t tell you how much I weighed last March in the first picture. However, right now, since I got on that bitchass doctor’s scale, I know that I weigh 164 pounds. This number itself doesn’t really phase me. I’ve been 180 pounds. I’ve been 158 pounds. I’ve been 172 pounds. I’ve even been 145 pounds. I’m still THIS GIRL no matter what the scale tells me.
What worries me?
The idea that pregnancy will likely cause me to gain 30 pounds (I’m being modest here…I know that first time moms go batsh!t crazy). If I gain 30 pounds right now, I will weigh about 200 pounds when I deliver my bouncing little bundle of joy.
Oh, my back.
AHHH, my knees!
Oh, my aching PANCREAS!
And will I be able to keep up with the new mom schedule if my body is not at it’s best? And what will my recovery be like if I’m at an uncomfortable weight?
I can’t do it, people. I just can’t do that to my body. I was not made to lug around 200 pounds of weight, regardless of what point I’m at in life. Pregnancy or not, I’m not equipped for it. My knees will not have it. My mother has diabetes, which she developed later in life (post pregnancy #2). I don’t want that for myself (or my future husband and children).
I’m taking a stand, and it has nothing to do with body image or pressure to be thin or anything of that sort. I have to do it for myself. Because it make sense for me. Nothing crazy, but I’m going to give myself an ‘intuitive eating tune-up’…stay tuned.
