When losing too much weight after pregnancy backfires. Literally.
You may have seen HERE and HERE a glimpse of my on/off relationship with food. Some days I am completely smitten and obsessed with its deliciously nurturing qualities and other days I curse its tempting ways when I start getting that arm jiggle again from over-indulging. Like many people, I’ve lived most of my life following the “calories in/calories out” equation to stay slim and just silently held my breath for a magic pill that could one day give me the best of both gastronomy and vanity worlds. And then I found it: Childbirth.
You may have read HERE how I lost all the baby weight. Now, six months later, not only have I shed the belly flab and puffiness, I’m ten pounds skinnier than what I was before I got pregnant. HUH?!?
Some friends gush, “Wow you must have worked out sooo hard!” Um, if you count carrying around my 25-pound baby a workout, then sure! My family balks, “You don’t look healthy—eat more!” If I’m not eating, then how am I still producing gallons of breast milk? Breast milk…yes, that could be the holy grail of weight loss secrets. Perhaps in breastfeeding my son I’ve found the Mecca where gluttony peacefully co-exists with finally being able to slip into my skinny jeans. And boy does that happy place feel good.
But, and there is a butt in this story, I’ve lost my butt. Somewhat restricted by my Asian genes, I’ve never had much of a booty but at least it was there. At least it said “hi” to me each morning in the mirror and at least it cushioned my bones as I typed away in my office chair. These days, my body symmetry is so unbalanced as I’ve gained the two breast friends I’ve ever had and then it all sort of whittles down to nothing until you see my size 7 feet. My butt’s gone a missing.
Patrick hasn’t said anything about it—bless his heart—but if I were a guy, I’d totally be a butt guy. I’d take a nice apple bottom over the milk jugs any day. When other women walk into a bar, my eyes dart across the room faster than the men’s as I just unabashedly stare in awe when I see a solid behind. I can’t help it because I want THAT.
I’ve openly proclaimed if I could buy a butt, I would. But seeing as I don’t have much money, I guess I have to resort to the old-fashioned way to put some hottie into my patottie. This Thanksgiving, I’m committed to downing some serious eats because enough’s enough and I need my butt back. I hope things will start looking pretty rotund assuming the newly acquired fat cells know to go straight to the butt and nowhere else. It’s a gamble I’m willing to take.
|King just thinks Mommy is silly.|