(25 weeks)My close friends and family know that I am a confident, curvaceous woman, unabashed at being full-figured. I've always embraced my curves. My best friend says that I "carry my weight well", which I regard as a compliment!
I had the awkward chubby phase pre-adolescence, but was a sleek, muscular swimmer in high school and college, with a healthy body image. In the years before becoming pregnant, I had settled into a delicate equilibrium with my weight - thin enough to feel sassy and healthy, while still embracing my natural hourglass figure.
But pregnancy broke me.
When my doctor insisted that I would need to gain _at least_ fifty pounds, my jaw dropped. Didn't I get a weight credit for being ample to begin with? Nope. At my 16 week visit, as the twin shock wore in, I had only gained a few pounds. I was ordered to gain 20 pounds in the next 6 weeks by any means possible. Numbers were thrown at me like hummingbirds whizzing around my head. 175 grams of protein and 2,700 calories PER DAY. 11% chance they would be identical. Twins represent one in 200 births. Average 37 weeks gestation. Expect bed rest by week 28. I was given a blue packet full of information and shooed out the door in a daze of confusion. My first post-twin-shock meal? Fettuccine Alfredo, which I could barely force myself to swallow, even though it would have been a forbidden treat an hour before.
Everything I'd learned about food and nutrition went out the window. It was like living in this backwards Jerry-Seinfeld-bizzaro universe where I was encouraged by my doctor to eat fast food. For the first time in our 5 year marriage, my husband was privy to the weight on the scale, standing behind me as I removed my shoes for the hopeful (!) weigh-in.
I remember the day I hit 200. My husband was amused that I now weighed more that he did ('I'm THREE humans', I reminded him defensively), despite being nearly a foot shorter.
Towards the end, I ignored the scale. I knew that my belly felt like it was suffering under the weight of 2 bowling balls. I saw the chubbiness in my face in the pictures that my boss and coworkers would diligently snap of me every 2 weeks so I could remember my pregnancy. I stopped going out in public. I felt the additional 70 pounds at week 34 with every step I took.
I delivered at 34 weeks, 2 days, and was spared the final belly-stretching weeks and bone-crushing weight gain that often comes with carrying multiples. I traded 70 pounds for just shy of 8 pounds worth of baby. At first, I accepted my additional weight as par for the course, feeling confident that the pounds would melt away with the whopping volume of breast milk I was producing.
Besides, what new mother has time to worry about losing weight? Amidst the craziness with two infants, I was lucky to make it through the day without collapsing. And, I had a built in excuse!
At least, that's what everyone kept telling me.
Almost a year later, I was feeling discouraged. My body confidence waned. Would I really have to bid adieu to my pre-pregnancy self-assurance? I vowed to make a better attempt to get closer to where I had been before.
By the girls' 2nd birthday, I was down 50 pounds! And that is where I still stand (sit?) today... Reluctantly hanging onto that extra 20 pounds, that threatens to drown my old aplomb - the girl that collected bikinis and barely gave a second thought to actually wearing one. (Gasp!)
Perhaps that is yet another one of the battle scars of motherdom. Perhaps the women in Hollywood that whip back into shape in 6 weeks are merely a figment of our imaginations.
Honestly, I haven't quite figured it out yet. I'll get back to you on that.
I had the awkward chubby phase pre-adolescence, but was a sleek, muscular swimmer in high school and college, with a healthy body image. In the years before becoming pregnant, I had settled into a delicate equilibrium with my weight - thin enough to feel sassy and healthy, while still embracing my natural hourglass figure.
But pregnancy broke me.
When my doctor insisted that I would need to gain _at least_ fifty pounds, my jaw dropped. Didn't I get a weight credit for being ample to begin with? Nope. At my 16 week visit, as the twin shock wore in, I had only gained a few pounds. I was ordered to gain 20 pounds in the next 6 weeks by any means possible. Numbers were thrown at me like hummingbirds whizzing around my head. 175 grams of protein and 2,700 calories PER DAY. 11% chance they would be identical. Twins represent one in 200 births. Average 37 weeks gestation. Expect bed rest by week 28. I was given a blue packet full of information and shooed out the door in a daze of confusion. My first post-twin-shock meal? Fettuccine Alfredo, which I could barely force myself to swallow, even though it would have been a forbidden treat an hour before.
Everything I'd learned about food and nutrition went out the window. It was like living in this backwards Jerry-Seinfeld-bizzaro universe where I was encouraged by my doctor to eat fast food. For the first time in our 5 year marriage, my husband was privy to the weight on the scale, standing behind me as I removed my shoes for the hopeful (!) weigh-in.
I remember the day I hit 200. My husband was amused that I now weighed more that he did ('I'm THREE humans', I reminded him defensively), despite being nearly a foot shorter.
Towards the end, I ignored the scale. I knew that my belly felt like it was suffering under the weight of 2 bowling balls. I saw the chubbiness in my face in the pictures that my boss and coworkers would diligently snap of me every 2 weeks so I could remember my pregnancy. I stopped going out in public. I felt the additional 70 pounds at week 34 with every step I took.
I delivered at 34 weeks, 2 days, and was spared the final belly-stretching weeks and bone-crushing weight gain that often comes with carrying multiples. I traded 70 pounds for just shy of 8 pounds worth of baby. At first, I accepted my additional weight as par for the course, feeling confident that the pounds would melt away with the whopping volume of breast milk I was producing.
Besides, what new mother has time to worry about losing weight? Amidst the craziness with two infants, I was lucky to make it through the day without collapsing. And, I had a built in excuse!
At least, that's what everyone kept telling me.
Almost a year later, I was feeling discouraged. My body confidence waned. Would I really have to bid adieu to my pre-pregnancy self-assurance? I vowed to make a better attempt to get closer to where I had been before.
By the girls' 2nd birthday, I was down 50 pounds! And that is where I still stand (sit?) today... Reluctantly hanging onto that extra 20 pounds, that threatens to drown my old aplomb - the girl that collected bikinis and barely gave a second thought to actually wearing one. (Gasp!)
Perhaps that is yet another one of the battle scars of motherdom. Perhaps the women in Hollywood that whip back into shape in 6 weeks are merely a figment of our imaginations.
Honestly, I haven't quite figured it out yet. I'll get back to you on that.
There's nothing sexier than a confident, curvaceous woman regardless of what the scale reads. How you view your self-imafemmage is how others will view you. Those Hollywood types are paid to look like that and thus have the time and unlimited resources, including artificial, to look like they do. The figment is the "airbrush".
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