At 5 months postpartum, I still am 38 pounds heavier than when I got pregnant. This fact makes me highly bitter, as I neither enjoyed eating while pregnant, nor did I eat myself into a stupor as I did when pregnant with Ben. Plus, I cannot avoid all of the “wow, I breastfed and lost 93 pounds in a week!” propaganda that LaLeche League puts out. I’ve been working steadfastidly at losing weight and STILL have only lost 7 or 8 pounds. That’s depressing.
I fear that the only way that I can go nose to the grindstone to lose this weight is to quit breastfeeding. Ah, breastfeeding, have I ever felt more conflicted about something? In short: no, no I haven’t. I share a love-hate relationship with it, more hate these days with the incessant biting that Baby Alex loves to do to my poor bedraggled nipples. I’m imagining some sort of gradual weaning taking place over the next couple of months.
So, what does someone as OCD as me do in this sort of situation? I make a plan.
I am going on the record here to proclaim that I plan to lose 15-20 lbs by Christmas Day. Considering how overweight I currently am, this may be a loftier goal, but come hell or high water, I’m going to give it my all. I could lie and say that I’ve been only halfheartedly sticking to my diet, and maybe it’s partially true, but now I mean it for serious.
It’s on fat, it’s SO on. You’re going to have to take up residence on someone else (like Dave, for example, he needs it more than I do).