The Elephant on the Blog

I’ve hesitated to write this post for like…ever. Mostly because I know that a lot of people are really sensitive about weight and weight loss as a topic in general, and with my penchant for self-deprecation of the fiercest nature, I’m sure to say something nasty about my own self and mortally offend someone else in the process. And I really don’t want to do that. Because body image is so personal and fragile for so many of us women and I don’t want to shatter yours just because mine is lacking…y’know? But at the same time, I don’t think it’s really lost on anyone that’s there’s been a drastic difference in my appearance as of late.

So please read this post with the following in mind: This isn’t about you, or your body, or what a given number on the scale might translate to for you and your body type. This is about ME, and MY BODY and the pretty irresponsible journey we’ve taken together over the past year and a half. Okay? I have a blog about basically nothing. I’m ALWAYS pretty much talking about ME. {I’d do a winky face, so you’d know I’m mostly kidding, but apparently that translates to emoticons on this platform, and well…I just can’t with the animated winky face.}

Okay. So…if you follow me on twitter than you already know what I’m being all freaky about. But if you don’t, here it is:

Here’s the big confession Twitter. Yes, I lost 100 lbs this year. No, I did not do anything special to do it. Depression is a horrible diet.less than a minute ago via web Favorite Retweet Reply

So yeah. I want to be clear here: I didn’t do anything that anyone should attempt (except for Power Pilates which at least left me with some muscle tone instead of just loose skin…although there’s plenty of that too…you’re welcome for that image.)

Anyway, it was my Dad calling me and telling me he was afraid I was going to die that prompted me to finally just write the freaking post. No, really. He said that to me (sorry Dad, but you did, and you know anything you say to me is fair game for me to write about) and although in my opinion it’s coming from a place of totally delusional Dad concern, I thought that maybe I should address is just in case anybody else is wondering if I’m at death’s door.

I’ll admit it…I’m not loving my new look. I’m a little emaciated for my taste – my sternum sticks out – as do my ribs, and my boobs have plummeted from a perky 20’s C to a jr. high A. I try my best to eat – I drink ensure, I eat protein bars, because food in general is not really appealing to me…which I’ve never experienced before. It’s odd. Mentally, I feel pretty great, and life in general is going kind of swimmingly (knock wood) but I just have no appetite whatsoever, and I’m starting to look a little sickly.

So I can’t give you great advice on how to lose that baby weight. My great advice would be not to gain so damn much of it it. I gained 85lbs and came home from the hospital at 218lbs, 8 pounds HIGHER than I gone in at. I’ve never shown this picture to anyone – I could barely stand to look at it myself, but here I am on the day we brought Dee home from the hospital:

I remember seeing that picture and deciding to go into hiding until the swelling went down. But it didn’t. I didn’t lose a damn pound for at least three months. No matter what. It really truly wasn’t until I started the Power Pilates that weight slowly started to come off. And then I weaned Delilah and my hormones went all wacky and my appetite started to wane and all of a sudden I was just dropping pounds like they were mother effing hot.

So here’s me in San Diego the week before last (with Lindsay, who designed my kick-ass magnets)

In April I bought size large pants from J Crew. By the time they arrived it was clear I was a medium. Now? X-Small. But I’m afraid to buy anything because who the ef knows where my body will go next. And I’m not really built to be an extra small.

I’ll be honest…I’m kind of freaked out. Not that I don’t enjoy wearing mini skirts and feeling like I have my body to myself again, but when you walk up to your friends at BlogHer and they don’t show even a flicker of recognition…that’s kind of a weird feeling.

At the same time, let’s not be overly dramatic here. I’m 5’7″. Traditionally I’d weigh in at about 135 (wedding weight) – 140 lbs (pre-baby weight.) That makes for a solid size six on me, and no one surmising that I might be on my last legs. Currently, I’m weighing in at 123 lbs. Not ideal, but not life-threatening either. My face is all cruella deville-y, and I’ve already mentioned the loose skin situation. Ideally, I’ll start back up my power pilates and put on 10 lbs of muscle by the time 2012 rolls around.

But there it is. My 100 lbs weight loss. The 100 lb weight loss I never thought I’d ever have any experience with. Sure, I’m hypothyroid and have bounced around 10 or 15 lbs since I left college – even having to fight back 30 big ones to get into the sample wedding gown I bought, but this is pretty unprecedented, even for a notorious yo-yo-er like yours truly.

So I guess my point is this. What happened here? Was not a good thing. Gaining 85 lbs is kind of irresponsible. Losing 100 lbs because you’ve lost the will to eat? Not a diet I’d recommend to anyone.

Please be healthy. I felt like the world’s most irresponsible a-hole when I tweeted that out abruptly the other night, but I was pretty shaken up by the phone call from my father in which he eluded to me starving to death. I promise you I’m not starving to death. But I wouldn’t want anyone to make the mistake of thinking I did anything worth imitating here, either.

Oh, and while we’re being brutally honest and bearing ourselves? This is why you don’t get tattoos on your lower abdomen, and then eat like a stoned pig for the duration of your pregnancy, ladies. Gentlemen, sorry to ruin the mystery of what that hot stomach piece on the girl from last night is going to look like after she squeezes one out.

{Who am I kidding? No dudes read this blog anymore!} Anyway…forgive the fact that I overcranked the photo so you could fully appreciate the sickening rippled effect, but you get the gist. Here’s the before if you’re curious. So if you were lucky enough to escape that mess, or haven’t gotten into it yet, enjoy your Bikini Weekend…Lord knows I’ll never have one again.

Feed Me Seymour