Fat

Science sucks, y’all.  Do you want to know why?  Because it took me three weeks to lose seven pounds and only two weeks to put them back on.  How effed up is that?

I realize I shouldn’t be that indignant considering how I’ve been a complete glutton these past two weeks, but seven pounds?  SEVEN?  I thought the bike ride around Mackinac Island might have canceled out the pizza or the fudge, but it seems as though every calorie I’ve consumed is clinging to me like a sweaty t-shirt.

I skipped my WW meeting last week because…well because I wanted to.  I was planning the trip to Mackinac and just wanted to go without any restrictions.  It wasn’t just a vacation from work.  It was a vacation from all responsibility and, apparently, a vacation from my senses.

Some of it was water weight.  That much I do know because I’ve been peeing like a racehorse all day (and can someone please explain that phrase to me because I’ve read Seabiscuit and it really does not touch on how much a racehorse actually does pee).  In spite of knowing I was bloated and feeling all that water slosh around inside me like an agitating Maytag, I was not a happy camper when I saw the scale shoot back up to within a quarter pound of my starting weight.

The good news is that I’m back to healthy eating again.  The bad news is my metabolism is all wonky and it will probably take me a few weeks to lose what I’ve gained.  My metabolism just hasn’t been the same since my pregnancy and nothing works exactly as it did before Autumn came along.  Years ago I was told that taking weight off gets harder as you get older.  I believed it, but hoped I wouldn’t be in my ’30s and still be fighting oBEASTity.

Has anyone else’s body done strange things since giving birth?  Do you ever get just a little bit peeved that you were able to grow an actual human being inside of you but can’t seem to make it to the bathroom at Target before piddling in your pants a little bit?  

I love my kid, but she really did a number on me.

Did you all hear that Jennifer Garner is pregnant again? I think the news has yet to be confirmed by someone other than former spy daddy Victor Garber, but from the pictures I’ve seen of her, it certainly looks like Violet’s mama is sporting a bump.

Jennifer Garner and I have a lot in common. We’re around the same age (she’s five months younger than me) and were both band geeks in high school. We each married tall, incredibly handsome men and became new moms right around the same time (her daughter was born two weeks after Autumn). Though I have never met the woman, I felt a connection to her that suggested we’d be great friends if we ever did meet.

But now she’s pregnant again and I sort of feel like I’m seeing my high school friend go on to college while I stay behind to work at the Quickie Mart. It’s not as though she can only be pregnant if I’m pregnant too, but that’s exactly how I felt when I heard the news. It was a melancholy moment for me.

I think I’ve written exactly one post about having more children. I only wrote that one post because a few months later Nathan and I made the decision that we were not going to have any more children. He had a vasectomy just before Autumn’s first birthday. I didn’t write about it then because it was a deeply personal decision that took some time to process.

For us, there were more reasons to stop at one than there were to expand our family. I got pregnant weighing around 270 pounds and gained over 50 pounds during my pregnancy. I was incredibly healthy throughout, but I never lost that baby weight. Ok, I did lose some during the months I nursed Autumn, but those pounds came back on and brought a few of their friends with them.

When we were still considering having another child, I knew without a doubt that I didn’t want to go through another pregnancy being fat. After my first ultrasound, my OB sent me to an office specializing in ultrasounds for high-risk pregnancies. There wasn’t anything wrong with the baby that they could see, but that was part of the problem. They couldn’t see as much as they wanted to because I was fat.

As I was filling out my paperwork at the specialist, I caught sight of the notation pertaining to my particular risk; obesity. Yuck. I hated that word. It wasn’t as though I was ignorant of my condition, but I sometimes preferred to pretend I was just like every other cute pregnant woman out there. But I wasn’t like every other woman who gets pregnant at a healthy weight. I had to buy every piece of maternity clothing online. I couldn’t go into the boutique maternity shops or even the stores in the mall. A good part of my maternity wardrobe was just plus-size stuff with elastic waistbands that accommodated my growing body.

When I started to think about having another child, the task of losing weight seemed so daunting, especially when I considered that I’d wind up gaining some of it back with another pregnancy. And how old would I be after I lost that weight anyway? I was in my mid-30s and the pounds weren’t coming off as quickly as they did when I was in my 20s. That first summer after Autumn was born I tried. I went back to Weight Watchers and I did try because I had stopped nursing and the pounds were piling back on. But I tanked. I tanked as I had so many times before.

My obesity isn’t the only reason we stopped with Autumn. There are a lot of other reasons that range from emotional to financial, but I knew that the limitations I experience as a fat parent would increase exponentially with another child. Being a parent is tough, emotionally and physically, and if you’re carrying around the weight of an extra adult on your frame you don’t have the physical stamina to withstand the emotional pummeling a child can dish out. Luckily I’m married to a man who was completely on board with me and we eventually had the discussion about the future of our little family.

While I don’t regret our decision, I’d be lying if I said I don’t sometimes wonder what a little boy of ours might look like and if Autumn would pick on him as much as I picked on my little brother. And then there’s the whole diapers thing. I don’t have to buy diapers anymore and that just seems inconceivable. I don’t have to monitor diaper sales and cut out diaper coupons. I don’t have to toss stinky diapers in the garbage or clean up the remains of stinky diapers that Molly pulled out of the garbage. I don’t have to do any of that anymore and it seems like there’s this great big hole where the diapers used to be and I’m left wondering…is this it?

While I have no friends who are pregnant at the moment, I know some of them are struggling with these same questions. Is this it? Do we keep going? Do I want to put my physical and/or mental health at risk and deal with an uncertain financial future for the sake of adding to our brood?

When I think of these questions and how Nathan and I have answered them with that decisive and very final snip, I also have to think about how lucky we were to have been blessed with Autumn in the first place. Without her, we would never have known it was even possible to want more.

I had one of those “the universe is speaking to me” revelations this past week. It began with a flop on the couch one evening as Nathan and I were preparing to play a game on the Wii. My knees being bad, I more or less descended into the seat with all my weight and flopped down onto it. I heard a sickening “CRACK!” as my butt hit the cushion and I immediately sank several inches. Nathan looked at me in horror. “No. No way,” he said. We immediately turned the couch over and were treated to the sight of one of the wooden supporting beams poking through the gauzy fabric covering the bottom.

Now these are not just any couches. These are the relatively new, beautiful, blue Broyhill couches we bought less than a year and a half ago. These are the “grownup” couches we purchased from a quality furniture store (i.e. a store that does not also sell groceries) and fully paid for as of this past March. These are the couches that were supposed to last us until we saw grandchildren and in one fell flop my ass destroyed that future.

It was humiliating. Nathan has seen me at my worst, but this has got to be up there with one of the most embarrassing things I’ve done in his presence. We wound up stuffing the damaged side of the couch with a pillow to reduce the sag and ultimately switched the damaged couch out with the other identical Broyhill that wasn’t sitting directly across from the TV.  I guess now only unsuspecting guests will have to sit on my Cushion of Shame.

I don’t write much about my weight here. If I do, it’s usually referred to in passing or as a punchline to a self-deprecating joke. That’s not to say I don’t take it seriously, but I’ve come to realize I don’t take it seriously enough. The universe was loud and clear on that point.

If the couch incident wasn’t enough, I had a Very Bad Mother moment later on in the week that probably would not have happened if I had been in better physical shape. I didn’t have the patience, the energy or the physical capability to handle my daughter’s willfulness and tried using psychology to gain her obedience. My method failed miserably and I was left feeling like a complete piece of shit.

I’ve been planning on returning to Weight Watchers for a few weeks but wanted to put it off until my summer class was finished. Of course I didn’t return immediately after class was over because we had two anniversary dinners with my parents, ours and theirs, and I wanted to be free to eat what I wanted.

This past weekend I finally started listening to the universe’s cues and got back to Weight Watchers. Not only did I weigh in, but I stayed for the meeting. I haven’t done that in a long time and it was nice. Lately I’ve been feeling a little out-of-touch with the outside world, a little disconnected from humanity if you will. With the exception of the Shakespeare class, I’ve spent a lot of my time inside and online interacting with folks I know only through their blogs or Facebook profiles. I really needed to interact with a group of fleshy folks (pun intended).

Apart from being treated to the sight of my highest weight ever, the decision to go back was a good one. It was either return to Weight Watchers or consider bariatric surgery, an option that still scares me more than anything. With my knee issues, I don’t doubt I’d be a good candidate for it, but I’ve already been under the knife once this year, thank you.

And just so it was sure I had listened, the universe gave me one more surprise this weekend in the form of a pair of split pants. My khaki capris, the nicest pair of summer pants I own, split in the front panel right next to the zipper.

I’m listening, universe. I’m listening.

While I was nursing Autumn exclusively, I enjoyed the metabolism of a supermodel.  I could eat all the crap I wanted and pretty much stayed the same weight.  God bless the suckling babe because I could visit the Chinese buffet on a regular basis and not have to worry about the fat content of the divine coconut shrimp.

The girl started eating solids though, and I now only nurse her in the morning when she gets up and in the evening just before we put her to bed.  Since then, my horrible eating habits have maintained but my weight has not.  I can feel myself swelling like a piece of road kill baking in the hot sun on the side of the interstate.  I use this disgusting simile because that is exactly how I feel and I’m pretty sure my weight has topped an all-time high.  Pretty soon I’ll reach Violet Beauregarde proportions and the Oompa Loompas will be rolling me away.

So I’m going back to Weight Watchers…again.  I’ve joined more times than I can count and was actually attending meetings earlier this year but dropped out.  That coconut shrimp is a siren whose call is hard to ignore and I totally succumbed.  I also succumbed to the call of the Chinese buffet near the university, the call of multiple slices of Costco cake and the call of the frozen Javalanche (much like a Starbucks Frappuccino) from the Lobby Shop on campus.

I decided I’m going back this Saturday.  I had decided to go back last Saturday but that would have meant controlling myself at the shower on Sunday and everyone knows there’s cake at a bridal shower.  Nathan’s Aunt Cheryl was the one who introduced me to Costco cake (damn her!) and I thought that since the shower was for her daughter she might have a Costco cake for me to dive into.  She did have a cake, not Costco, but one that was very pretty and quite tasty.  I’ll have to put a picture of it on my Flickr page.  I took three.  Pictures that is, not slices.  Yes, I do love me some cake.

Since my decision to re-join the WW ranks, I’ve kicked my bad eating up a notch.  This is how I know I’m serious about wanting to lose the weight because right before I join I eat as though I know I’ll never have another meal ever again and must eat everything on this planet worth eating because, God no, you can’t have that while you’re trying to lose weight.  Last night was Cold Stone Creamery.  We weren’t even planning on going there.  There’s a nice little mom and pop ice cream shop a half mile from our house that sells fat free frozen yogurt and our plan was to go there after dinner.  Molly needed food, however.  Unlike me, she’s on the healthy weight management plan and we had to trek over to the nearest Petsmart for her kibble, a trip that put us conveniently close to Cold Stone Creamery.

We very rarely go to Cold Stone.  For one, the parking lot is always full because it shares the lot with Carrabba’s which is always insanely busy.  Another reason is that no one should spend that much on ice cream unless they’re getting a good gallon of it they can bring home and eat over the course of a few days.  Every time I’ve gone there I’ve ordered the Sinless Sweet Cream because every time I’ve gone there I’ve been on Weight Watchers.  This time, however, I decided to try something different.

My first sample was of the Cake Batter ice cream.  I was pretty much gone from there and ordered a concoction that consisted of the ice cream, rainbow sprinkles and an entire brownie mixed in.  I think there may have been some fudge sauce in there as well.  I don’t know.  It was all I could do to keep myself from pressing my nose against the sneeze guard while the guy used his supreme mix-in wizardry to prepare my order.

I was asked if I wanted my order in a cup or a waffle bowl.  Shoot, why not put it in a waffle bowl?  Would that be a plain bowl or one dipped in chocolate?  Shoot, give me one with chocolate.  Would you like a chocolate dipped bowl with nuts or sprinkles?  Nah, just a plain chocolate dipped bowl for my ice cream mixed with an entire brownie will be fine, thanks.

Nathan and I took our orders back to our car and ate them while Autumn babbled in the back seat.  I’m glad she was sitting behind me and facing the back of the car because I really didn’t want her to see how big of a pig I’ve become.  At least I refrained from ordering the “Gotta Have It” size and opted for the smaller “Love It.”  One thing did occur to me as we licked melting waffle bowl chocolate from our hands.

“Did you notice that the guy didn’t even ask if we wanted the ‘Like It’ size?” I asked Nathan.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I guess we just don’t look like ‘Like It’ kind of people,” I said.

I had my last two showers Friday night and yesterday morning. Let me tell you, we are so blessed to have so many people who care about us and this baby. We received so many wonderful gifts and warm wishes. I think I’m going to miss all the attention that comes with being pregnant. I made the mistake recently of telling my mother that I could totally “do this again.” It was a moment of weakness. I was feeling good and much less cranky about the pregnancy experience as a whole and it just slipped out. At yesterday’s shower I heard her talking about “the next one.” I haven’t even delivered the first one yet and she’s talking about another one. Grandmothers….

Friday’s gathering with my co-workers was by far the liveliest baby shower I’ve ever attended. Lots of laughter and drinking, though I was only able to partake of the virgin slushie and not the vodka one. Mary D. was kind enough to open her home up to our wacky group and we had a blast. Here are a few pictures of our fun evening:

That’s Tammy, Mary D. (the hostess), Nancy and Melissa in the backround. Can you tell which slushies they have?

Katrina, Sharon and Pat. Katrina will soon be leaving our office to pursue her dream of becoming a crime scene investigator.

Brenda and Katrina. Brenda is due with her second child in just a few days.

Diane protecting her bottle.

Here’s one of the cute outfits I received. Lord, I look tired here.

When I unwrapped this box, I said, “I don’t think the pudding will last until the baby’s born.” Apparently the box was meant to throw me off. That Marianne’s a tricky one…

This picture just can’t do this afghan justice. Mary V.’s mom made it and it is gorgeous. It will be coming to the hospital with us.

I had to cringe the next morning when I downloaded the pics. I had been successfully avoiding the camera for 8 months and just wasn’t prepared to see my vastness in living color. I know I have to make concesssions because I’m pregnant, but I’ve never been this big in my entire life. Of course I’m a glutton for punishment and brought the camera to Saturday’s shower, too.

I handed the camera to my mom with some reservations. She has a notorious shaky hand when it comes to photography. After downloading Saturday’s pics, I should have worried less about the way she took the pictures and more about the angle in which she was taking them.

Case in point:

Yeah, they’re all pretty much like this.

Leora, Grandma S. and Grandma D. Grandma S. has macular degeneration, yet she can still see me well enough to tell me that I don’t look 8 months pregnant. Before the shower I hadn’t seen her since my dad’s birthday in August at which time she told me the same thing; that I didn’t look that pregnant. As I was opening gifts, she leaned over to Leora and I heard her say, “I don’t think Heather looks that pregnant, do you?’ Well, I knew Leora didn’t think so either because that’s one of the first things she said to me when she saw me. The capper came just before the ladies left and Grandma had to get it in one more time. “You really don’t look that pregnant. You just look like you’ve put on some weight.” I finally said, “Grandma, you can stop saying that now.”

Here’s my best friend Marla (in the green) and her sister Melissa. I’ve known both of them since high school. Marla just had her second baby boy 9 days ago. Doesn’t she look great?

The lovely ladies who hosted the shower for me…

…and the wonderful food they provided.

Tearing into the gifts.

Another beautiful afghan, this one made by Leora. I like this pic because you can only see my head.

A huge basket of goodies from my mother. I received another one similar to this at my first shower with Nathan’s family. This would be why the baby’s closet is so stuffed now.

The woman in the red sweatshirt with the American flag is my parents’ former neighbor, Maedy. She became a grandmother for the first time Friday night. Congrats to her son Aaron and his wife Sarah!

I joined Weight Watchers for the first time when I was 17-years-old. Back then I had maybe 40 pounds to lose. I lost some if it, but not all, and eventually gained back what I had lost in spades. Fast forward thirteen years. I had joined and quit WW a total of 17 times (no joke). I just couldn’t get it together enough to lose the weight and was disgusted at the 300-plus pound self I saw in the mirror. I joined WW again and this time I saw success.

At least until this summer.

Nathan and I bought our first house this summer. I thought buying a house would be fun. I’m a born snoop and loved the thought walking through other peoples’ homes while they’re gone and getting to open up cabinets, closets and drawers. I had no idea I’d walk into every house and see flaws everywhere. Flaws I couldn’t possibly live with and didn’t want to have to fix. During one Saturday our realtor took us to 14 different homes. We just weren’t finding a house that fit. My mother likened the process to searching for the perfect wedding dress and I agreed. We would know the house when we saw it.

That being said, the entire process was stressful and I dealt with that stress by eating. I gained 10 pounds over the summer and haven’t quite gotten back into the “program” as WW puts it. As of last March I had successfully lost 81 pounds and had faithfully attended every Saturday meeting. I proudly displayed my 25, 50 and 75-pounds-lost magnets on my refrigerator.

Lately I’ve been skipping meetings left and right. One night last week I came home and microwaved 20 Bagel Bites for dinner. I’ve been trying to medicate myself with food and it’s not working. I’m skipping my exercise, opting to stay in bed an hour longer in the morning. I don’t want to worry about planning my meals because I’ve got to worry about getting my homework done.

But I have a Columbia parka in my closet.

Columbia does not make extended size parkas for women. They do for men, but not women. I guess the folks at Columbia are too busy putting money into their clever print ads and not enough into research that shows there are women out there who are large and would like to be able to wear one of their coats. I’ve always wanted a Columbia parka but was always too big to get into one.

This past spring I found one on clearance at Younkers. It was an XL and didn’t quite fit but I was convinced it would by the time I’d need to wear it. I was so convinced I would lose the weight that I gave away the winter coat I had. So now that parka, all bright yellow and navy blue, taunts me every time I open the hall closet. I’m proud of the weight I’ve lost so far and am thankful that I haven’t gained more than 10 pounds back, but I want to get into that coat. I don’t know if that’s going to happen this year. It’s the middle of September. We might be lucky and not get much snow before Christmas, but I’m going to need something soon. Nathan’s so cute. He’s convinced I can lose the weight I need to get into the coat by winter. Gotta love that optimism.

So the struggle now is to not let the stress and depression get to me. The stress is only going to increase the further I get into the semester and the closer it gets to the holidays. We’re having Thanksgiving at our house this year, which means we’ll have to keep the patio furniture out on the deck well into November. My dad’s allergic to cats.