Mmm, Pie.

About this time last year, I tipped the scales at one of my highest weights ever.  With the holidays to blame, with their eventual departure, I dove into a vigorous gym/salad routine that landed me 15 pounds thinner between January and the end of April.  In May, I went to the Gynecologist for a check-up, and when she launched into her obligatory your-BMI-is-off-my-chart Weight Watchers lecture, I told her about my recent weight loss, and she told me to stop losing weight.  15 pounds, apparently, is as much as someone should lose in a year, she says.  Any more, and I’m at a higher risk at gaining it all back, she says.  As much as that sounds like a bunch of hooey, it felt more like a get-out-of-gym-free card.  Hooray.

Soon after the weight conversation, I told her I wanted to get pregnant in the near future, which made her drop the weight issue all together as we talked about getting some sperm, working with an R.E. she recommends, and stocking up on folic acid asap.  I still kept going to the gym, though more irregularly, and stopped torturing myself with spinach and chicken salads every day.  I maintained my weight loss, or so I thought.  Last month, while at the Dr.’s office for the flu, they weighed me per usual, and I was five additional pounds under my April weight.  Thinking maybe the scale was a fluke incident, I didn’t think anything of it until we started seeing the OBGYN, whose scale showed the same number – making that a 20 pound weight loss in 11 months.

Now we’re post-holidays again, and I’m negotiating the feelings that have come with a little overindulgence (my shrinking stomach and lingering nausea (still… I know) can only accommodate so much overindulging) and my growing (and curiously hardening) belly is not so much unlike the post-holiday belly growth that makes me springboard to the gym.  I have to remind myself that it’s not the buckeyes doing me in (though they might contribute), it’s my avocado-sized fetus pushing my innards around and making me feel like I’ve had too much pie.  I could use to walk the dog a little longer at night (now that the snow has mostly melted) anyhow, but mostly, I’m trying to fight the urge to cut back on my calories and feel the burn at the gym, since Vegas surely would not appreciate either endeavor.

On a related note, I would like to take this moment to thank my still-fitting pants.  Thank you, pants.

Posted on December 28, 2009, in everyday, second trimester. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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