I realize that my blog is still very new, and as such, unfettered pompousness and boasting on my part may kind of ruin this whole thing for some people.
However, I don’t care.
This is why: I have achieved a weight gain of only 5 pounds as of this 27th week of pregnancy. (Not unrelated: my blood pressure this morning was 100/58.)
Um, HIGH FIVE!!! No pun intended. I’m not one of those weirdos who think puns are real humor. Admittedly, I did once read the Xanth series by Piers Anthony, and all I have to say for that is “book addiction”.
Some of you may be thinking, Is that even healthy? or, Excuse me, but you are no better than me for not having a 20-pound weight gain at this point. These reactions are certainly valid. First off: is it healthy? Well, no one really knows for sure how fat loss or gain affects a fetus. Some studies claim that ketones released from fat burning could potentially damage a fetus’ brain development in utero; others found no such correlation. The official stance of my midwife is that it’s fine to not gain weight or even lose weight as long as you’re getting proper nutrition and are healthy otherwise. I am privy to that advice because I lost nearly 30 pounds in my first trimester with Gwenna. Since I was pretty chunky (still am), my midwives weren’t concerned. If you’re a healthy weight to begin with though, they get a little more reactive to weight loss or no gain. So yes, if you’ve gained 20 pounds by week 27, that’s probably fine, and I don’t think I’m better than you.
But you have to admit that I’m awesome!
I have really worked to keep my weight under control for this pregnancy. Like I said, with Gwenna, I lost nearly 30 pounds. What I didn’t say was that I gained it all back… plus 20. Strangely, a week after delivery, I was a mere 5 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight. That didn’t cancel out the trauma I endured with my very delicate self-image, however; I was horrified at the end my first trimester this time around to learn that I’d only lost 1 pound, in spite of teaching Zumba and being too nauseated to eat much. I was certain that I would gain 50 pounds again and die from a fat attack. That probably exists for real: I imagine a mixture of an anxiety attack and an all-out riot of fat cells taking over the cardiovascular system.
But I have triumphed thus far. I teach Zumba three times a week (and no, I do not modify… yet) and I count calories. I make sure the majority of the food I put in my mouth is made by me from whole foods. I plan meals before braving the grocery store. I bake, I steam, I mash… I watch my husband mix things with the mixer. See, all made by yours truly. I try to eat as much fruit and nuts as I can. I walk for an hour with my daughter in the stroller (I sadly cannot fit both my belly and my daughter in the Ergo carrier any longer) about 3 times a week.
This is an incredibly proud moment in my life. I’ve always been chunky; I’ve had my rounds with starvation and binging and purging and starting new exercise routines and giving them up after an earnest 3 weeks (which, for some reason, generally led me into a terrible cold). I’ve cried many tears over feeling helpless about my body. I may not be losing massive amounts of fat, but I am genuinely. Truly. Caring for my body.
That is why, today, I am celebrating gaining 5 pounds.
And here is a picture of Gwenna in a wig: