Well, actually it's 6 PM, so tomorrow will be another day one. One of many.
I am a mother of two, and my youngest is eight months old. With the first, E, the baby weight was fairly easy to lose once I got down to it. It's completely the opposite with my youngest, N. It seems that no matter what I do--low calorie, high protein, low fat, lots of exercise, tons of water--I gain weight. So for a while now I have done what I want. And, of course, I have gained weight. I actually weigh more now than I did when I was 9 months pregnant. Only two pounds more, but still. Sometimes I wish I was pregnant again so at least there would be some justification for all this weight.
Right now I weigh 231.2. There, it's said. When N was born I weighed somewhere around 219 (229 when I was 9 months pregnant) and I got down to 207 within a few months of his birth. I thought I was down to 189, and I was ecstatic. Then I got a new scale, since the old one would measure up to 75 pounds difference within a minute. No, seriously. I found out I was 207 and fell off the wagon, for lack of a better term.
I'm done. I have two pairs of pants that fit, and they're on the way out. I have less than five shirts that fit comfortably, and I have three pairs of shorts. I have boxes and boxes of clothes that I have packed up because they no longer fit. I can't bear to get rid of them, though, mostly because I'm not independently wealthy and can't afford to replace my wardrobe when I gain or lose weight.
I'm sure it will take me a while to find a balance between being able to control my weight and the rest of my life. And I'm here to write about it until I do.