Man….I was in a such good mood Tuesday morning. The bambino was being super-cheerful, we got out the door at a decent time, I got to work and everything was going fine. Then I had a coworker ask if I was expecting. And for the record, I’m not. It sent me into a tearful, downward spiral almost immediately. The fact that my response (“Nope, I’m just fat.”) didn’t even phase this person made it that much worse.
WHY?! It’s an unwritten rule everywhere that unless it’s blatantly obvious, that a woman looks like she’s about to drop any minute now, or you’re privy to insider knowledge, YOU DO NOT ASK A WOMAN IF SHE’S PREGNANT!!!! You just don’t.
It hurt too, because I know I look bad. I’m fat. I said it. I am. I’m 5’2″ and I weigh over 160 lbs. Going by BMI, I’m borderline obese, if not technically obese. I appreciate that I have a husband who can look past things like my weight and love me anyway, but the truth is, I have a gut that apparently looks as though it’s housing a fetus. I have a chin that’s slowly being overtaken by my neck, and my face is round enough I also have the potential for jowls. I’m fabulous, let me tell you. It’s not that I don’t expect people not to notice…I see it everyday in the mirror. I know it’s there. And I wonder how I look to other people.
And the other thing is, for one, comments like that do not make me want to mow through a bag of salad or a plateful of veggies, then go hop on the treadmill for 2 hours. No, I wanted nothing more than to work my way through a bag of Cheetos, followed by a bag of Reese’s miniatures. And a bottle of wine.
It’s not that I don’t know what to do. I really don’t think my diet is all that bad. I do need more veggies, but I figure I make up for it by eating a bunch of fruit. Fruit and I are friends. Veggies and I, not so much. But most of what I cook any more is homemade (most of, not everything), and we’ve stopped eating fast food for the most part (which is not to say that I wouldn’t down a Bacon Cheddar Butter Burger with some crinkle cuts in a heartbeat!). No, I don’t exercise as I should. It’s a vicious circle. I’m tired from all the extra weight I’m carrying, plus life in general, but I’m also at the point where exercise wears me out. And frankly, I’ve just been lazy. I know it. Do I need to sit at my computer for 45 minutes each morning? Probably not. I should be sleeping (I don’t get nearly enough–Another reason I’m tired all the time), or at the very least, working out.
And why I don’t just do this, and get myself back in shape, I don’t know. I can’t even blame it on baby weight–I got within 5-10 lbs. of my pregnancy weight shortly after I had the bambino…No, this is sheer laziness and sloth on my part. But I’ve got some mental roadblock that’s holding me back…Or some lazy roadblock (“work is hard, so I quit.”)…I don’t know. But seeing as yesterday marks the third time I’ve been asked if I’m pregnant, I think I need to just get over myself and get to work. Y’know, ’cause if I just started intuitively eating real food and just moved more, the weight would magically come off!