¶ I felt like a Fairytale Witch
The other day I was making this little beef tenderloin roast that Simone adores beyond reason, and I am trying to lose weight, so I was calculating portion sizes. I was squinting at the package, figuring out how many ounces were in the roast based upon its weight in pounds, and all of a sudden I realized it was EXACTLY one pound, ten and three-quarters ounces, and if that number sounds familiar it is because HEY! I was hefting newborn Simone, nicely seasoned with salt and pepper.
It was rather an unsettling train of thought seeing as I was about to surround the thing with onions and put in the oven.
(It was delicious.)
¶ Speaking of…
The losing-weight thing is a pain in the ass, honestly. I lose weight very, very slowly, and my thyroid fights me bitterly for every ounce. But I am sticking with it, and doing it sensibly and sustainably, and feeling much more committed than I ever have before. I think this is because I came out of my pregnancy 20 pounds lighter than I went into it, putting me only about 20 pounds away from my goal weight. Losing 20 pounds sounds doable. And the difference in how I feel at this weight versus 20 pounds heavier is dramatic, like a free preview of what my reward will be when I’m finished. Besides, it seems like it would be a shame to waste all the progress I unwittingly made while gestating Twyla. Theoretically, I could just have one more baby and voila! Goal weight! It’s as simple as nine months of intractable nausea and vomiting!
The second day was the hardest, and that evening I found myself running up and down the hallway of my railroad-style apartment, trying vainly to get my Fitbit to register enough activity to net me, say, a bowl of potato chips. I had no sports bra, and thus was forced to clutch my bosom to keep things from bouncing. I can’t imagine what the people below us thought I was doing, but am gratefully certain they could not guess the reality. The reality being, to reiterate: running up and down my hallway–up and down, back and forth–holding my breasts. For potato chips. There are surely many sins of which I am guilty (gluttony springs to mind), but pride does not seem to be one of them.
¶ I was going to put ONE baby picture in here, but I got carried away.