I got on the scale Saturday morning. That is normal – I get on the scale in the morning most days. I haven’t wanted to mention the fact that through the last 16 months, I have wavered between 3 and 7 pounds above my pre-baby physique. I shouldn’t complain about that – many women would love to be that close to their pre-baby weight, I know.
So I got on the scale. Then I got off it. Then I got back on, rubbed my eyes and did a little jig. The little lines indicated I was TWO POUNDS BELOW my pre-baby weight. It’s still three pounds more than my lowest first-and-second-trimester, morning-sickness, multiple-daily-vomitings-through-week-24 weight, but it’s LESS THAN I WEIGHED AT MY PRE-PREGNANCY VISIT!
So I drank some margaritas and ate some ice cream. Yum. I haven’t been on the scale since. I’m sure it’s all ruined.
But really, it’s not the pounds that have bothered me. It’s the shape of my body. Even though I am apparently in the same weight class as in April 2005, my clothes will apparently never fit right again. My boobs are nearly a full cup size smaller, and I was only a B cup before. When paired with the hips and the huge ass, I look more like a Weeble than a woman.
I know it’s horrible and selfish, but sometimes I just want to mourn the nice figure I had before Angel Face. Just a little bit.