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October 6, 2018

Moootherhood

My weight has yo-yoed since I was a preteen. Part of me assumes that I was predisposed to be a huskier gal because my parents were big, but clearly, there's a diet aspect of it. The best way to curb my sweet tooth has been to limit carbohydrates, which was hard enough when I lived alone but is an uphill battle since getting pregnant. My doctor told me when I was a few months in that I didn't need to eat carbs during pregnancy, but Zach begged to differ.

When it was just me, I could buy low carb food and cook because I had all this energy from not giving a shit about anyone else. Now I can't even count the times I had to turn the stove or oven off in the middle of cooking something because Zach was having a meltdown. The counters are cluttered with stuff that I have had to move out of Zach's reach, and I'm too short to reach the high shelves. This also wasn't a problem when I lived alone, because I easily climbed all over countertops and furniture like the nimble thirty-six year old I was. Then when I was in my third trimester, I was hanging curtains, and the chair I was standing on buckled beneath me. I texted Jason crying that I was now the fat sidekick in a buddy comedy.
Six weeks pre-pregnancy, all fresh-faced and relaxed.








I assumed after giving birth, I would lose a ton of weight pumping and breastfeeding, but my body decided against that plan. For the past year, I have felt a combination of physical exhaustion and insatiable hunger. The more solids Zach eats, the better I feel, and the more energy I have. He really is a little parasite. My understanding of breastfeeding was that I would get back to my pre-pregnancy weight within a year while experiencing an extra special oxytocin bond with the baby. Maybe with the breast pump too. Instead, it feels weird, and sometimes like I'm a hostage.
Me now, suckled dry. 

The older Zach gets, the more awkward the breastfeeding gets. He does weird gymnastics during and if we are in public, has no problem suddenly moving to expose me to the world. So on one hand, yay, I'm nourishing a life. On the other hand, I miss wearing a bra with underwire that keeps my boobs and dignity in place.

Now that I'm trying to wean him, I have hopes that I can start bouncing back, but this is dependent on my not getting pregnant again. Now that I'm breastfeeding less, I'm ovulating again, so it's a possibility, so I have to either go on birth control or run from Jason when the Lions win. Fortunately, that a rare occurrence.
Zach's bizarre breastfeeding position. My boob has been censored out because I'm only comfortable with immediate family, friends, distant relatives, Denny's, and Ripley's aquarium seeing them.