Muffin Toppin'

Did anyone else eat their weight in food over Thanksgiving?

So just me then?

It was sooooo good.

Luckily I had some left over maternity leggings to wear, and you know those things are super stretchy. Stretchy pants are a MUST on Thanksgiving.

Now here we are, more than a week later.  Stretchy pants are no longer acceptable, and buttoning my jeans is my new priority.

Since buttoning my jeans isn't exactly comfortable these days, I am thinking that I need to get by butt back to the gym, AND that I should have skipped that extra helping of pumpkin pie.

When buttoning my jeans gets difficult, I know I have packed on a few extra pounds.  I can't be sure though, since I have never owned a scale.


Sure, there have been scales at places I have lived (I lived in a sorority for 4 years, I am SURE there was a scale somewhere in that big house), but I've never been interested in owning one.

Scales fall into the "slippery slope" category for me, along with bread makers and blackhead removers.  Once I get those, I fear I would never be able to stop.

Now that I think of it, maybe a scale and a bread maker would cancel each other out... so then I would be left with my black head remover, and we all know that is not a good idea.

So, since I have no self control, I don't own any of those things. Plus, I don't actually want a scale... but I do really want a bread maker.

I have always gauged my weight gain by how my jeans fit. It's my "muffin-top" scale.  It has served me well for my whole life, until I got pregnant.

Heck, I never really know what I actually weigh, but if my jeans fit well, then I can assume I'm at my "normal weight." Since I don't even keep track of the number, Chris doesn't know it either, not that I am exactly forthcoming with that information.

Pregnancy pretty much threw my muffin-top scale right out the window, because at least for me, there was a good 2 months of bloat, that then turned into baby bump, then that turned into baby BUMP (which is just a much bigger bump, and thus it deserves all caps). I was muffin-topped pretty much from the get go and my jeans had no hope of buttoning.

So, when I went into my doctor to get my first ultrasound, I was a bit surprised when they made me get on the scale.

If I had have thought about it, I would have realized they would need a "baseline weight" for this pregnancy, but I hadn't really planned on jumping on the scale, which just so happens to have a big-screen read out.

So much for Chris not knowing my weight.  Heck, with the reader-board style scale, the whole office probably knew my weight.

I figured it was futile to make Chris close his eyes and pretend he didn't see the number.  Oh well, there goes the mystery.

So now, we all knew how much I weighed, and my next question was "how much will I gain?"

As someone who has never been overly concerned about weight, I was weirdly interested in how much I was going to gain.

The accepted range is about 20-30 pounds. I was determined to be under 30, because I am nothing if not competitive- and of course... I was going to "win pregnancy."

Did I actually do anything to ensure that I didn't gain exorbitant amounts of weight? No.

Actually quite the opposite.  I went through a few months where I ate dessert after breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I'm not joking. I love dessert. 

It was a fabulous couple of months.  I used the power of positive thinking to help keep my weight down...sometimes it seemed to work, sometimes it didn't.

I am not sure why I actually cared, since I knew that eventually it would be me and me alone who would have to run, spin, zumba or swim off the pounds.

Each month, we would head to the doctor for my check up and I would take a deep breath and think "light thoughts" before I hopped on the scale.

So each time I would jump on the scale, I would ask my nurse what my last weight was and then do the quick math (and we know that I'm horrible at math).

I can honestly say that during my whole nine months, there was no rhyme or reason to my weight gain. There were months when I would loose 4 pounds, and other months that I would gain 9 - and they didn't correlate to my dessert indulgences.

On the weigh-ins when I would lose weight or only gain a pound, I would hop off, high five Chris and my nurse and then do my happy dance and proclaim to myself and anyone within earshot "Winning!  I'm winning pregnancy."

On the months I gained 9 pounds, I would quickly tally how many more pounds I could gain and still stay under 30 total, and then silently high five myself for still having a ways to go. Also, my amazingly wonderful nurse, Tru (yep, that is his real name), would proclaim "Girl, you are looking fab-u-lous, don't even worry about it." 

Love him.  That is exactly what a pregnant girl needs to hear!

In the end, I did hit the 30 mark and just barely crossed that line.

Darn I was close.

Although I didn't jump on a scale while I was in labor (I was a bit busy), I'm pretty sure the final number was 33 pounds.

33 pounds; which, apparently, is just over the average amount of cheese that an American eats in a year (30 lbs) and just under the average weight of an average human leg (40 lbs).

Is it just me, or does 30 pounds of cheese in a year seem a bit low?  Between grilled cheese sandwiches, macaroni & cheese and then the occasional happy hour with blue cheese and wine, I think my number could be higher. Don't tell, but I didn't cut out soft cheeses from my diet while I was pregnant and Hunter turned out just fine! How can you say no to brie, blue cheese, gorgonzola???  I can't.

I digress.

Anyway, putting on those 33 pounds was fun (the chocolate chip Pizzookie in Phoenix was really fun), and I'm sure that taking them all off will be less fun.

Since I still don't have a scale, I'm pretty much using the reverse muffin-top scale to figure out how much weight I have lost.

I came home that first week after having Hunter and put on my "fat jeans" (you know the ones, we all have them) and the button was miles away from the hole.  Sad, but not unexpected.

Each week I try on my jeans and assess the muffin top.

Every time I can button up a new "skinnier" pair, I run around the house yelling, "They fit! They actually button up... these are my skinny jeans... I don't even care if I have a muffin top... they fit!"

Chris really enjoys it when I do this.

Usually he laughs at me, but he is all for the high fives and the excitement.

Hunter had no idea what is going on.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I didn't know what to expect, how much I would gain, or if I would ever lose the weight.  No one tells you about these things.

I was nervous about the whole gaining 30 pounds thing, and I worried that all that weight would stick around forever. You never know how your body will react and how fast it will bounce back.

Some people walk out of the hospital wearing their skinny jeans and some wear drawstring pants for 6 months.

I'm somewhere in between those two. I am 8 weeks out and I am buttoning up my skinny jeans. Don't get me wrong, I'm rocking the muffin top when they are buttoned up, but they are buttoned up.

I'm still wearing my maternity leggings (like on Thanksgiving) once in a while since they are nice and stretchy, and when I button up my skinny jeans I wear a flowy sweater to camouflage the muffin top.

Next week I head back to the gym.

The pounds that were going to come off easy have made their great escape and the stay-too-long-house-guest-pounds need some encouragement.

I'm quite certain I won't make it more than 20 minutes at the gym before my body rejects exercise, but I'm going to give it a go.

I was not great at "documenting the trip" like some people are.  I didn't wear the same outfit or stand in the same place.  Heck I was lucky if I took a picture every other week.

Now, for a trip down memory lane.  All 33 pounds of memories....

Wish me luck.