As I've talked about a number of times, I avoid getting on scales because it makes me a crazy, number-obsessed person.
So all the way along my pregnancy, I didn't find out what I weighed. And then in the hospital, when they were about to give me the epidural, they asked so that they could figure out the amount.
I had to ask the nurse to look at my chart. My weight from the week prior was a gain of 27 pounds. So let's say by that point it was 28 or 29. Not too terrible.
And I think, at this point, I've lost most of it. I mean, I must've been 10 pounds lighter immediately after the boy was born.
I am almost out of my maternity pants. And by this I mean that I can snausage myself into my regular jeans, and I do fairly regularly just to keep myself in check. But the maternity ones, oh, much more comf!
And the problem, it is as follows.
I might be approaching my old weight and size. But I'm not the same shape. I have a stomach - which I'd never had, not even in my heaviest of college days. And I'm squishier. The butt, well, I don't think I even feel like thinking about it.
A very dear friend sent me The Shred and some hand weights. How awesome a gift is this? And I want to use it and kick my own ass. I do.
But not quite as much as I want to eat the entire leftover Halloween bag of Reese's peanut butter cups. And take a nap.