Weaning, Weight, and Wookit Me...

Ever since I joined the legions of breeders, becoming an unwitting pacifist in the so-called "Mommy Wars", I have heard more than I ever wanted to know about breastfeeding.

There were a lot of reasons it made sense for me to breastfeed my boys. Beyond all the well-known health benefits, I was staying home with them (accessibility) and it was free (affordability). But I was also told, over and over, how this wonderful gift of nature also meant losing the baby weight faster. Boy, oh boy, was I ever on board for that. Especially after I had put on 80 pounds over the course of my pregnancy. (And no, I didn't go on a Krispy Kreme diet or anything like that. Best medical explaination? It's genetic.)

There was just one problem. I realized very quickly after Jack was born that I was not losing the baby weight. Oh sure, there was the instant weight drop that came from delivering a 10 pound baby and all the other "stuff" that goes out with that. But once I left the hospital? Not an ounce did I shed.

At 9 months old, Jack suddenly weaned himself - rejected the boobies in favor of the bottle and the freedom to crawl and eat simultaneously. As sad as I was for that chapter to be over, within a week or two I noticed something very interesting. The weight? It began to fall off. It was as though my body had been hoarding all those extra pounds "just in case". In case of what I can't be sure (it must be a holdover from those scottish highland genes, maybe an inborn resistance to famine or a cattle shortage. I blame these same ancestors for that whole 80 pound weight gain thing...).

But just like that, I started to see myself emerging from behind the layers of extra mass. I didn't quite make it back to my prepregnancy weight, but that was just fine with me. I embraced my new curves and moved on.

Then I got pregnant with Toby. This time, I put on only about 50 pounds over the pregnancy. And again, after the initial drop in weight after the birth, I watched my weight stay miserably the same. By the time he was 9 months old, I had managed to drop about 10 pounds before my body steadfastly refused to do more.

I had put very little thought into this whole issue as we went through the weaning process over the last month or so. I occassionally stepped on the scale out of idle curiosity, but that infuriating little needle never moved. And then? Then one day I realized, as I stepped off the scale, that the needle was not quite returning to zero anymore. I readjusted the scale to zero it out and BAM - just like that, I was 5 pounds lighter. After verifying at the doctor's office, I heaved a sigh of relief because... apparently the trend will continue.

Weaning Toby was extraordinarily emotional and difficult, but now that it is done? I suddenly get a consolation prize. The fat jeans have been put away, and I even managed to slip into a few pairs of pre-Toby pants.

This long - and totally irrelevant - missive has served the purpose of leading up to the following photos. Of myself. Which is a rare event, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed.

2001 - The Cubicle Dweller

July 2003 - Gestating A Jack

January 2005 - That twinkle in my eye? That's Toby.


October 2005 - Gestating A Toby

April 2006 - Smuggling Midgets In Those Cheeks


October 2006 -Hey, She Looks Familiar...

I'm not a petite little thing, nor do I ever aim to be. That said, getting this extra weight off means less back pain, less hip strain, and more energy for living. And if I can reach a healthy weight, be confident in my appearance, and occsionally squeeze into a little black dress to remind T why he forsook all others? Baby, that's a big win in my book.

So there you are. I will now go back to posting photos of people who are much more fun to look at than little old me. At least until I change haircolors again. Because someone out there is playing "Mel Hairdo Bingo" and they're just panting for me to turn up with a blue mohawk so they can win the toaster.