Right after Raiden was born, I lost 20 pounds. Then, for the next 3 1/2 months, I lost nothing. Zero. Not an ounce. Now, I know I just had a baby, but that baby is now five months old. Too long to be up 20 pounds from before I got pregnant with him and 25 from when I got pregnant with Sabrina. I reject being fat!
In my almost four months of pretending that this weight was just going to disappear, I've realized why so many fat people dress badly. It's because they don't want to buy jeans with that big number on them. "No," they tell themselves, "I'll be back in those pre-baby jeans soon. I'll just wear sweats until then. Where's the ice cream?" Apparently, this weight ain't gonna disappear that way this time.
Way back about 13 years ago, when I lived in Alabama, I ate lunch with about four women who, by the end of the year, were all on Weight Watchers. Because apparently people on Weight Watchers can only think and talk about food, I became very conversant in Weight Watchers' method. Here is is:
By some mysterious formula, you figure out how many "points" you get to eat every day. You then do some incomprehensible thing to assign the aforementioned "points" to food, making sure not to eat more than you are allowed. Got it?
Based on the internet (where everything you read is true), you get to eat about 25-30 points per day if you are me, because I am breastfeeding. Points for food are assigned thusly: 1 point per 50 calories, plus one point for 12 grams of fat, minus one point for 5 grams of fiber.
I know Weight Watchers' success is built mostly on meetings and stuff, but I think my brain just needed to say to my body, "You're eating how much of what?" My mom does this automatically. She sees a pound cake that is 800 calories a slice (this is a real number), and says, "Get behind me, spawn of Satan!" Apparently, I have to say, "Okay, 800 calories is (mumble mumble) SIXTEEN POINTS?! GET BEHIND ME, SPAWN OF SATAN!!!!" Once I have a budget I can do it, but otherwise I'm all, "800 calories? Whatevs." Which is why my 25 pounds have remained firmly attached to my thighs, apparently.
Now, I'm not getting all anorexic, because food, yum. And I'm not getting all bulimic, because, duh. But I am getting back in those pre-baby jeans, dangit!