My Weight is Over!

I’m faced with a most unpleasant situation.

About a month ago Bode finally weaned himself from breastfeeding - exactly 16 months and one week after he first began. My feelings were mixed. On one level it was a relief to have my body returned completely back to me for the first time in over two years. I can now eat whatever I want, drink whatever I want and be wherever I want to be (within the bounds of practicality and familial harmony of course) at any time of the day. 


I have more energy now than I have had in over 18 months, since the later stages of pregnancy began to take its toll. And that familiar yearning to have “my life” back is all but gone, as though there is no longer any sacrifice required of me. Finally, I feel a tremendous sense of pride for having been able to overcome many challenges and stay the course in order to breastfeed my baby until he was ready to stop.

When he finally did stop – communicating his wishes with a definitive and very articulate, “DONE!” – I also felt an enormous loss and sadness. This bond that my son and I have shared since he was first placed in my arms, only seconds old, was a gift that only I could give him. While breastfeeding we had cried together, laughed together and slept together. This special time – roughly calculated at around 2000 hours – is time that can never be replicated. But the most disturbing part of this milestone is not that those treasured moments now exist only in my memory, but that they have been replaced by more weight than a two-ton elephant!

Cringing, I watch the scale climb, climb, climb, as it has every week since I stopped breastfeeding. I don’t believe my eyes – this stupid electronic device must be lying to me - so I am forced to put Ian in an awkward position and ask him if he has noticed that I’ve gained weight. Yes, he says, but just a little. Bless him. Oh for crying out loud! I haven’t changed my diet, I have been even more active than I was previously, and I had only been feeding Bode once a day during the last two months. Surely he wasn’t taking that many nutrients from me to make this much of a difference?

Perhaps it’s the dramatic change in hormones. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m still producing milk that is simply getting reabsorbed into my own fat stores. Perhaps I just became accustomed to eating a little bit naughty, just a little too often without any consequences. Good grief!

Sooooooo it’s back to the treadmill for me. Watching what I eat, embracing my sporting endeavours with new gusto and continuing on the path to reclaim MY life and MY body. Er, until we decide to start all over again, that is. Sigh. Well at least the reward is more than worth the sacrifice. It’s even better than chocolate.