I weighed in at 201 pounds at my 24 week appointment on Thursday.
I'm trying very hard not to worry unnecessarily about my weight during my pregnancy. The last thing I want is to have an unhealthy relationship with food when I have a very important responsibility to make sure that my baby is getting enough of it. Instead, I'm trying my very best to keep a healthful perspective by understanding that putting on too much weight could be dangerous for the baby, but not putting on enough could be even worse. That's how I justify a 29 pound weight gain anyway (10 of which were gained before I even knew I was pregnant).
It is a little disheartening, however, when I look back to this time last year and see how very hard I struggled to get below that 200 pound mark. It was nearly impossible with the holidays and constantly being surrounded by delicious food that I refused to deny myself. I just did the best I could to avoid overeating and I worked out like a machine. I don't think it was until late December or early January that the scales finally tipped to 198 pounds, and it wasn't until mid-January--when all of the leftovers had disappeared--that the scale remained that low. Of course, then I spent the next four months slowly, frustratingly shaving off another 26 pounds, and when the scale just wouldn't go any lower than 172 pounds for the entire month of June I stopped paying attention and took a break from dieting.
Little did I know my body was creating a cozy little home for an embryo and I had been pregnant for most of the month of June.
I never once thought I'd get pregnant before I reached my goal weight, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't truly believe that I would get pregnant even after reaching my goal weight. I didn't think it was ever going to happen for us. I would lie awake at night wondering how horrific the argument would be when Jon decided to approach me about adoption and I would have to finally admit that I didn't want to do it. I would have to be that terrible person who said we either have our children, or we don't have children at all. There's a story and fear behind my feeling this way, but it's for another time. Bottom line is, Jon always said if we exhausted all avenues and I still couldn't get pregnant, then we would just adopt children, but I have yet to muster enough courage to tell him that I don't think I ever could adopt a child, and I've always feared that because he wanted children so badly, this conversation could be the end of our marriage.
So, here I am, at 201 pounds. Full of baby, full of life, and full of food that I've denied myself for a very long time. I'm thinking back to the days when a 29 pound weight gain would have made me snap, and I'm doing it while quietly sitting on my couch and watching my belly jump as our son kicks me from his womb. And I'm looking back at an entry from almost one year ago today and laughing at the irony:
"3 more pounds and I’ll be under 200. October was an absolutely terrible month weight loss wise. Damn you McDonald’s and your evil Monopoly pieces--Ronald should be hanged!"
"Dear God, it’s not like I have to get pregnant right now, it’s just, you know, a sign that I’ll be able to give birth sometime in the foreseeable future would be fabulous. Love, Kate."
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