I'm going to talk about baby weight. You think I won't go there. Ohhh, my darlings, I'm going there.
I gained 30 pounds with Henny Penny. I am convinced it would have been about 50 had I not felt like an exhausted, flu-ridden, shadow of myself for 4 months. Because when I started to eat...I ate. And ate.
Once I was eating lunch in the break room at work and the 'maintanence specialist' on our unit asked me if I left anything in the salad bar? Well...A-Hole. I am eating a gigantic salad because I am starving and growing a human inside my body. The look I gave him could have melted paint off the walls. If you are a man and reading this...It is NOT okay to comment on the size of a woman's meal. Especially if she is pregnant. He's lucky I didn't have a pair of Hemostat clamps in my pocket.
He'd be less a pair of balls right about now.
Trying to get rid of the last baby weight has been a bit of a struggle. After Henry was born the number on the scale just kept dropping...it was great. Everyday was another pound gone. Then...it stopped.
Dead in its tracks.
I think I was about 24 weeks pregnant when I got out of the shower one evening and really looked in the mirror. I ran screaming down the stairs in my underwear. Michael was playing X-Box and he looked up, panicked.
"What's wrong!" Thinking something was wrong with the baby.
"Look at my thighs....!!!" It looked as if I was attempting to smuggle bean bags in my inner thighs.
Well... the baby is gone, and the thighs are not.
At some point I will have to admit that the muffin-top and squishy thighs are not because I had a baby 3 months ago. They are the result of zero self control and guacamole for dinner...
That is a tough pill to swallow.
In happier news, Henry is napping.
Praise sweet Jesus.