Whether I’m shoveling buckets of food in or cradling the porcelain bowl like it was the lone port in a storm I tend to gain a lot of weight when I’m pregnant. As I like to brag, I tend to gain MORE weight when I can’t eat, which would make me an excellent famine survivor, should zombies and the undead rise from their graves.
It’s all about how you spin it, right?
Because the last time I had the stomach flu, I also ended up gaining weight. You’d think I was lying, except for why the hell would I tell you about carrying my poo around in a bucket and then lie about gaining weight? In terms of orders of magnitude, that simply doesn’t make sense.
If I was gonna lie, I’d tell you that I just won the Nobel Peace Prize for Awesomeness.
So, anyway, a couple of months ago, I confessed to you, Fair Reader, that I needed to shed some 60 pounds of baby weight still stubbornly clinging to my ass. Lord knows that my ass must get jealous of all the attention my stomach gets and feels it necessary to get pregnant too.
I bought Alli.
You know, the drug they advise you not to wear white pants while you take it? The one where they suggest that “treatment effects” might cause you “discomfort” and/or “anal leakage?” It seemed a better course of action than a tapeworm, so I dutifully took pill after ever-loving blue pill.
Until my hair started falling out.
“Bald” and “fat,” not two words I needed to hear in conjunction with Aunt Becky, so quickly to the computer I dashed, and there it was, bold as day: patients with thyroid disease should consult their doctor before starting this medication.
Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw. I have mother-humping thyroid disease. Nice going, dipwad. Way to READ those warnings, ass-bag, nimrod, moron, fucking brainiac.
Truthfully, the Alli, besides making for some interesting bathroom ass-plosions, wasn’t working anyway. I dutifully ate better and I’d managed to gain a pound. I guess there really IS no quick cure for weight loss, eh?
Anyway, turns out, my thyroid crapped out on me once again in a condition called postpartum thyroiditis. It happened after I had Alex and and it’s happening again now, so catching it and increasing my meds to the TOP OF THE DRUG MANUFACTURERS DOSE (doesn’t that make me sound AWESOME?) should help with Operation Lose My Fat Ass.
Also helping is the Topamax, which has jump started the whole process by making food taste like rancid cheese.
Today marks Day 1 back on Weight Watchers–a diet, which, I should add, is awesome–and while I don’t expect it to work miracles, knowing that the scale already is moving in the proper direction makes me feel like a real human again.
I don’t think I can explain how frustrating it is to do all of the right things and still feel trapped by a body that won’t cooperate. Wait, actually I bet a number of you CAN understand that, just probably for different reasons.
Also, I hate to brag, but I’m pretty sure I lost at least 21 pounds ordering The Shred off Amazon, but I wouldn’t actually know because I tossed out my scale several months ago because it was broken. Well, it was broken or my 8 year old weighs 23 pounds in which case, I probably should get his malnourished ass to the hospital soon for Nutritious Things.
So, today, I order a new, unbroken scale and I’m back to tracking points and anxiously awaiting dreading my Shred DVD so that I can get my out-of-shape ass kicked by that horrifying bitch, because It’s Time. No more excuses, no more apologies, just accountability.
God, I wish a tapeworm would work.
(Maybe we should form a support group or something.)(hold me)(HOLD ME)