Guinevere

*WARNING* Self-indulgent, whiny, body image-issues post to follow...if that's not the kind of thing that interests you, just skip over it. But hey, its my blog...I reserve the right to be self-indulgent from time to time...

For anyone who read my pregnancy blog (or who talks to me) knows that the hardest part of pregnancy and new-momhood for me was the oppressive weight gain (well, except for the whole labor/delivery/recovery thing.) I won't go into the details of how I managed to gain roughly 50# only to say it was partly my fault (chips and ice cream, anyone?) and partly God's fault (since eating or gaining weight has never, never affected certain parts of my body like my legs...in what world would I think pregnancy would?)

I had lofty dreams that the pregnancy fat would just melt away, that I would breastfeed til the end of time to burn calories, and that I'd be looking spiffy 6 weeks postpartum in time for my friends' wedding. Um, about 13lbs "melted" away during delivery, breastfeeding was a disaster, and I wore the same dress to the wedding that I wore to my friend Crystal's wedding--at 35 weeks pregnant. So fastforward to late September...there I was, still about 30lbs overweight, about to start a REAL exercise program, and wearing double-digit size pants.

I think that was the first clue that I had a ways to go. When I was about 3 weeks out from birth, I made my mom go shopping at Old Navy with me. First I should preface by saying that 3 weeks PP is NOT an appropriate time to try and buy clothes. Not only was my body not ready, my mental state was still a mess thanks to the hormones and lack of sleep. Nonetheless, I bravely marched into Old Navy and hesitantly picked up a pair of size 10 shorts...and then put them back and grabbed a 12. "Be realistic," I told myself.

But the 12's never made it past my knees. Neither did the 14's. I walked out of there with a crappy pair of olive green shorts in a size 16...now you're talking about someone who is about 5 feet tall and at my chunkiest never wore over an 8. I wanted to die.

Thus began the exercise and diet program. I signed back up for Weight Watchers and realized immediately that I was still eating like a pregnant person. There was no baby inside of me to feed and my boobs were apparently good for nothing, so they didn't need the extra nourishment either. I was starving for a few days but then adjusted. Now it was time for exercise. I had been walking sporadically, G3 strapped into his Baby Bjorn (because he was still a tiny little peanut then...sniffle sniffle...) but walking wasn't enough. I started DVR'ing some lovely work-out shows (b/c really, whether I was up with a baby or not I was not going to workout at 6am.) Denise Austin, Gilad, and the "trainers to the stars" on "My Workout" became my new best friends.

Move ahead 8 weeks. I was slim, trim and fit. No just kidding. I was down to a twelve but hadn't really lost much weight. I was pretty despondant and had decided I hated Denise Austin. I was stuck at 160lbs and wasn't losing a single iota. WTF? Yeah, ok the workouts were getting easier to do (or I should say, less death-defying) but why wasn't I losing weight? I was convinced I must have some rare metabolic disorder and was actually contemplating going to the doctor to have my thyroid checked. How come "everybody else" who'd had a baby last summer apparently shrunk back to normal proportions with zero exercise and here I was, working my ASS off--literally--except it wasn't really going anywhere.

And then, something magical happened. I really did start to lose weight. I cannot tell you how good it felt to fit into a size 10, and then MIRACLE OF MIRACLES my size 8 jeans. To wear clothes from pre-pregnancy (even though some are rather outdated and don't look remotely the same on me). My arms were actually getting some definition, which I've never had before, and my back cleavage was slowly, but surely shrinking. And yet, still, looking in the mirror each morning after a shower pretty much almost always makes me want to cry. It's all because of Guinevere.

You see, one of the terrible side effects of having your stomach exapand to wild proportions and back again is that skin can only take so much. Meaning, that even though the rest of my body has returned to its normal shape and--I think--actually smaller...there's this hunk of skin around my belly that just doesn't seem to want to give up and die. So, no matter how many sizes I go down, it doesn't matter...the skin is still there. I've decided I'm just going to name it Guinevere, since that's the ugliest name I can think of.

Yesterday was another one of those banner clothing days...going through my summer stuff and trying on the world's best shorts that I've had for years....AND THEY FIT!! AND THEY WERE LOOSE (except for Guinevere.) Earlier in the week I went to get a new pair of AE jeans b/c mine are practically falling apart...and the 8's were TOO BIG! But the paradox is, if I go with 6's, Guinevere appears much larger and livlier. Crap. Oh, and did I mention she's striped, thanks to stretch marks. I am seriously at a loss as to what to do this summer, since I'm going all soccer-mom and joining the pool so baby Gabe can go splash around every day. Do I get a one-piece to encase Guinevere like a hung of sausage?? Do I get a tankini and never raise my arms for fear she will scare off little children at the pool (probably not possible since I'll be carrying G3 all over). Or do I just buy a bunch of cute cover-ups and hope for the best (that I won't have to dive in after a drowning patron to save them?)

As I've mentioned in previous posts, Gabe has taken up running. So we go for some pretty heart-rate-increasing power walks about 4 times a week. The last two times I gave running a shot...I'm not a runner. I hate running. I hate the feeling of my feet hitting the pavement, I hate the burning in my chest, I hate sweating so bad that it runs in my eyes. I don't enjoy it at all. But, its kind of a proven way to burn calories. And crap, if GABE can just start running after not exercising since the days of Basketball Camp, I should be able to too. And what about the endorphins?? Since I'm a responsible adult with a kid, I obviously don't seek out illegal methods of getting "high" anymore (err, not that I ever did before.) Alcohol is great but its hardly a stimulant. Where is this runner's high people speak of? Or do you have to be of the Lance Armstrong athletic prowess to achieve it? (Oh wait, he's a biker. Never mind.)

So the moral of the story is I want Guinevere gone. I will keep exercising and eating healthy (90% of the time...hey, a girl's got to live a bit, right?) and hope that by summer I won't have a tire around my waist. The upside is that I have never in my life exercised as much as I do now. Sure I was always active--walking, kickboxing classes here and there, a brief jaunt with spinning (aka Death Class)--but mostly the activity came in spurts and wasn't structured. So I want to keep being healthy...and eventually feel comfortable wearing the 6's and maybe even (gasp) 4's!! Of course by that time I'll probably be ready to have another baby and kick-start the whole ordeal into gear again...

Until then, there's Guinevere.