On Friday, March 1st, my baby turned 8 weeks old. I weighed in at 260 that day.
So I've gained some weight, obviously. My sister stayed with me during a good chunk of February to help me with the baby. I loved having her here! She's five months pregnant, though, and we indulged in pretty much anything we felt like. Now she's gone, I feel more overwhelmed with childcare, and I'm fatter than before.
I feel totally lost at sea right now in terms of weight loss and behavioral change. I'm a terribly inconsistent person; I lack follow-through. I come up with an idea, a goal, a plan, and I fail to follow through the next day. Sometimes the same day! I can't really blame this on having an infant to care for because I've always been this way; however, having an infant does not make this any easier.
My mind slips into all-or-nothing thinking more than I care to admit. I catch myself faster than I used to and can adjust the tone of my thoughts better than before...so that's something. But even when I tell myself to simply pick ONE area to work on, ONE habit to change, I freak out and can't pick one. Or stick with one. That daily vegetable I mentioned in my last post? Never happened.
I so want to be a good example to my girl. I so want to spend this year at home not only bonding with her, but getting healthier month by month. And more at ease in my skin! It used to be that photographs were taken of me infrequently enough that I could internally wince when I saw the reality of my body size in pictures, but pretty much let it go, bury my head in the sand, and carry on unaffected. It's a different story now. You know how picture crazy new parents go, right? And aunts and uncles and everyone else? I have ended up in more pictures during the last 2 months--me holding the baby in all sorts of positions and angles--than in the past two years combined. I've seen enough of myself that I just can't ignore how bad I look anymore. I've reached that point where no nice/dressy clothes look good on me; every human body has a threshold past which clever layering, shapewear, and all the other tricks in the book can't really hide the truth anymore. I've been there for some time, wearing baggy and practically unisex clothes so I don't have to deal with it. But if I'm being honest, I long to wear lovely clothes that boost my confidence and celebrate the fact that I'm alive.
My mom didn't help me with clothes, bra shopping, makeup, any of that stuff. Much of that was her own narcissism, but some of it (I have come to realize) was her own incompetence and lack of ease in this area. I want to help my own daughter, but I won't be able to if I haven't figured it out for myself first. The same could be said of cooking and healthy eating, of exercising, of so many things.
It feels good to write, even if it's all over the place and mostly a testament to me being lost and going in circles.