It's been nearly 10 years since I met my husband. It was the most exciting time of my life. I was 26, had just run my first (and only, to date) marathon, landed a great job and moved to New York City. I radiated confidence, and had never felt better. For the first time ever, I was a man magnet. It was fun.
The last 10 years have been busy: date a little, gain a few pounds, work some, move in together, gain a few more pounds, get engaged, buy a house, lose a few pounds, get married, get pregnant, gain a lot of pounds, have a baby, lose some pounds but then gain a whole lot while breastfeeding, lose some more, exercise exercise exercise, do a few triathlons to get in shape for second baby, get pregnant again, gain fewer pounds than first time, have baby, lose some but gain again during breastfeeding, exercise exercise exercise, diet pills, get in great shape, stop diet pills, get pregnant, have miscarriage, gain, keep trying to get pregnant, gain, get pregnant, lose a few during first trimester, gain less than with either pregnancy but still end up huge, have baby (a girl, yay!), lose a bunch, gain it all back while breastfeeding.
(I have read so many times about women who lose weight without ever trying, from all the calories they burn while breastfeeding. Not me. I've consistently gained weight every time. Bummer.)
That's pretty much where I am now. The scale this morning read 260. That's 96 pounds more than when I met my husband. He's a good man and he loves me, but that's a big change and I feel like I sold the guy a bill of goods. He thought he was marrying a slightly pudgy, vivacious blonde. Today he's got a fat, tired wife who's always exhausted and irritated by the time he gets home from work.
I'd like to continue nursing my daughter until November, when she's six months old. I feel like I owe it to her, and I enjoy the quiet time together. But I also feel like I'm in limbo until November.
