Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Maybe I need to go back and read the beginning of my blog. Maybe somewhere in my words I can find where my motivation came from (as if I don’t know). Maybe I can remember what it was like to have self-control and was able to say, “No thanks” on desserts, sweets, extra food, or anything at all.
I feeling a bit defeated today (ok, probably more like for the past month). My mind keeps going back to an article I read a long time ago on NerdFitness.com. It’s called “Are YouCollecting a Pile of Underpants?” It has a funny analogy to go along with an episode from South Park, but the gist of it talks about gathering all of your information, getting totally prepared to do something life-changing and exciting, and then not following through with it. This is the story of my life right now (and has been in the past as well). As previously mentioned, I have a thing for doing research. What I haven’t really mentioned (nor had a problem with until recently) was that sometimes all that research leads to a giant pile of useless information.
I’m just over 4 months postpartum. I’ve gone down just one clothing size, and I’ve lost (on a good day) only 20 pounds. I’m sure regular people see 20 pounds and say “But that’s great!” and it is, but when you gained 60 from being pregnant and lost almost 100 before that, it’s nothing. I’ve been researching workouts I can do in my office, clean-eating, the paleo diet, reading motivational articles on Nerd Fitness… I even signed up for a new program they are creating just for women to be notified when it comes out to test it. (If I can afford it.) But here I am… not walking stairs, buying mini candy bars at CVS on a whim, wanting and getting ice cream whenever and wherever I can. Failing at life is what I would call that. I’m failing (and flailing). I brought this on myself. I knew when I got pregnant (hell, I knew this when I was thinking about getting pregnant) that I would lose all self-control, go a little nuts, and struggle to find that center I had at one point. I saw this coming and yet I still did nothing. If I could kick my own ass, I probably would right now.
I feel very stuck and conflicted. I want to get a fill and get back into my groove of losing weight, but I’m afraid that getting a fill and reducing my calories will dwindle my already lack-luster milk supply. I’ve been half-assed trying to just control myself, but I’m quickly realizing that I got the lap-band for a reason. I have no self-control. I think this is also known as a food addiction. I have a food addiction. No, I don’t eat entire pizzas in the dark crying to myself about how fat and out of control I am. I just… can’t seem to control myself anymore. I can’t say “no”. Maybe deep down, I don’t want to…but then why do I feel so awful that I can’t find that place I was at before I got pregnant when I was losing weight and being awesome? (Don’t get me wrong – I’m still awesome.) Oh wait, I think that’s what addiction is (and guilt, let’s not forget guilt).
I want to breastfeed for at least 6 months, but I would prefer a year (even though really only breastfeed part-time, in the evenings/overnights/early mornings). What does that mean for my body? I’m not breastfeeding enough for the calories to ‘melt off’ at the rate I’m eating them, but I get hungry constantly. My weight has been steady for about 2 months. I make some good decisions, but I also make some bad ones. I don’t work out or do any real calorie-burning activities. The cravings I gave into during pregnancy have not left and have only increased...Chocolate, ice cream, carbs in general… stupid, stupid cravings. I almost had those under control at one point...almost. Now I have to start completely over and it’s been so long, I’ve forgotten how. Yeah, I know how to say no. I have all the tools and information you could ever freaking need to get started, but my motivation is hiding behind the what-ifs of my baby’s milk-supply.
Don’t even get me started on the fear I have that my child will grow up with the same food/eating problems that I have. That’s a whole other guilt-ridden post.
So what do I do? Get a fill at 6 months and hope for the best? Wait until Xander self-weans and hope I don’t continue to get fatter? Cross my fingers? Shut my eyes and hope for the best? How do you choose who to put first when it comes to this sort of thing? How long do you put yourself second? Is it considered selfish to put yourself first too soon? Do I even care what other people think? (No, but I have enough mommy guilt already. I am my own worst enemy.)
Ugh. Wake up Erin. Don’t wait until it’s too late and you are starting from the VERY beginning. Do not. Just. Don’t. I don't even want to think about that possible situation.