Still Can’t Fit Into Them JeansIt was a chilly evening in February when my husband and I found out I was pregnant. How could a tiny stick, a plastic thing you pee on make us so happy? After all the tears of joy and excitement subsided, it was time. Time to get down to business and EAT.
I have always watched what I eat, making sure to skip the mayo or cheese, refrain from fast-food, and just keep walking past the ice cream parlor on a hot summer’s day. But when I found myself pregnant, I knew I HAD to eat. It was my duty as a mother to eat. Even if it meant giving into cravings. Even if it meant sending my husband on late-night errands for a peanut butter cup Blizzard or a large poutine, extra gravy of course.
“I must listen to my body” and “The baby needs it” were phrases I used to justify my indulgences, seeing them as a necessity to sustain a life. And this way of thinking prevailed throughout my first trimester. As a result, clothes started to feel tight, pants a bit snug, and some buttons snickered at me as I tried to do them up. Then the second trimester blew in like a tornado with my mouth the eye of the storm. Food was being pulled into it like trailers into a twister, and nary a thought of post pregnancy weight entered my mind.
Before I knew it, it was time to go shopping for the dreaded maternity jeans and other gut-accommodating attire. At first it was fun--clothes were cute, sizes were small. I was, as they say: “all tummy”. As the months flew by, so did the sizes. Smalls became mediums. Mediums became large, until much to my chagrin, larges became EXTRA LARGE. The shame.
“How can this be?” I wondered, contemplating the reasons. “Maybe the baby weighs 15 pounds?” (knowing full well the answer was no). As I held down the couch littered with candy bar wrappers, chip bags, and the occasional apple core, I suddenly glimpsed my future and the long journey ahead. I then asked the inevitable question: How was I going to get into my jeans again?
By the end of my pregnancy I topped the scale at a healthy 185-190 pounds. I’m six feet, but that’s no excuse. My beautiful baby girl was born on Remembrance Day weighing in at a solid 8.65 pounds, not 15 like I had thought.
Six months have passed and I’ve yet to fit into them jeans. Although I’m close, I never thought it would take me so long to drop those pounds I deliciously gained oh so many months ago. Sometimes it gets me down when I accidentally catch a glimpse coming out of the shower, but I take solace in knowing I gave my daughter a scrumptious place where she could grow and develop into the beautiful angel she is. And I know, by the grace of god that someday I will fit into them jeans once again.
- Nicky Summers
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