The Arbolog |

I have to admit that I was delighted to learn at my appointment the other day that in 4 short weeks, I have lost all but 4 of the 37 pounds I gained during the longest nine months of my life. I am constantly looking at my ankles as they are stretched out on the coffee table and Kale is blissed out feeding in my lap (hey, you gotta look at something to pass the time) and am constantly thinking to myself “Were my ankles this lovely and slender pre-pregnancy?”. My face feels decidedly skinnier, my arms are developing actual DEFINITION from lugging around the near-11 pound squirrel that constantly chitters and packs away food, and I generally feel rather fit. Surprising considering the amount of ice cream, mini Coffee Crisps, Sour Keys, and other assorted naughty carbs I shove down my cakehole on a daily basis. As Karina says, I am going to be one of those bitches that says “I don’t know the pounds just melted off me!” to other post partum women. Note to self: keep mouth shut about weight when in the company of post partum ladies in the future. Other bonus to breastfeeding besides the sweating away fat? My colitis has been in remission since giving birth. I’m not even on meds these days. SA-weet.

Now, all that previous paragraph full of self-love aside, I can’t say with the same sort of happiness that the pre-pregnancy-weight me is the same shape. I need a little girdle to carry around the stretch-mark-adorned belly I have. Holy cow that’s an interesting dichotomy I go through every morning – do I shove the belly into the underwear and pull the undies up and over the bag o’ Jell-o, or do I shove the underwear under the belly?

I’ve bought some much-recommended Bio-Oil to massage into my stretch marks and my incision scar and have no idea if its working or not but hey it smells purdy and it was only $10. On both counts I say “aye”. 

I’ve been thinking long and hard if I want to rejoin Curves now that my mat leave from the gym is quickly going to be “up” and I think I have decided that no, I don’t want to. The hours, quite frankly, suck. And I’d rather find some sort of Mommy and Me type of activity rather than force myself into the Gym That Uses Too Much Purple to fake my way through a 30 minute workout and pretend like I actually want to be there.  I’d rather spend my time with Kale or perhaps walking or yoga-ing or some other activity. i do realize that having a gym membership at an adult gym is good for that whole “Mama needs some time by herself” type of thing, but I’d rather cash in on glasses of wine or Starbucks, or hell, even shopping as for my time by myself.

Either way, I feel rather pleased that the weight has come off as eaily as it has. And with all this walking, I actually have a TAN on my legs. Jesus, its like I am a real girl or something, and not the pasty white Ghost of Summers Past.

Kale and I went to our four week midwife appointment today for a weigh in and to generally see how things are going. Every time I go to see our midwife, I feel a huge sense of reassurance that what we are doing is “right” and that Kale is a thriving healthy little dude. I walked to the appointment (note to self: walking in 30 degrees is stupid) and by the time we got there we were both completely sweaty.

He is weighing in at 10lbs 11ozs, which means he is also a piglet. He was alert and awake the entire time we were there, and Linda seems to think he is going to be an early walker given the head control he is already showing and given the alertness he is seeming to display. Guess I have to baby proof the house sooner rather than later. So long glass cabinet full of wine glasses, its been nice knowing you. 

Kale is also a sweat-er – a fact that I, as the feed bin, cannot stand, and he has developed a bit of a rash because of the sweat. Ross has been taking the little monster into the shower with him – he hated it at first but appears to now be enjoying it – and tonight we are going to start a bedtime ritual and massage him after the shower.

I swear today I almost got a smile out of the kid – we were playing “that’s your nose” and I am pretty sure it wasn’t gas. I need more “That’s your nose” to be sure. But man, holy cute.