I weighed myself this morning. It’s not an every morning thing, but maybe a three times a week thing just to make sure I am still headed in the right direction–if ya know what I mean. I got really excited when I saw the number 144.3…and then I got slightly UNexcited. Here’s why:
Way back in March, not even a month after I had Greta-girl, I decided it was time to stop eating for 2. The first 25 pounds had already melted off and I was stuck at 161.8. Trust me, I was THRILLED that I went from 187ish to 161 in less than a month–but I knew it wasn’t going to keep going that fast by stuffing my face. My goal of 140-145 was a lofty one. I have never been less than 140 in my adult life. I am tall. Like, about 6 feet tall, and 140 seems to be the minimum my butt can go (literally). Back in 2006-2007, I was living happily at 144.
When I made that goal 8 months ago…I imagined myself looking like the circa 2006 version of me. And now that I am at that same weight 4 years later, post-adorable-baby, I don’t look like that. Nope. I can fit into those Von Dutch jeans I am sporting on the left (victory!!), but my still-soft belly needs a much more billowy blouse to sport on top (meh).
Looks like I need a new magic number and a new plan. I eat
right when I remember, and when I do remember it is pretty healthy. That’s a non-issue. I am still nursing like crazy (the girl is showing no signs of slowing down) so the calorie burn is there EVERY day. I think I need to focus on toning up, because let’s face it: A toned, 144 lb, 6′ glass of water, looks a whole lot different than a post-baby-bod, 144 lb, 6′ glass of milk. Realization is the first step, right?