Fat

I am fat. I have always been fat. . . Well maybe not always. There were a few years when I was a small child where I was positively scrawny. But for all of my adult life I have been fat.

That isn't to say that I haven't experienced times in my life where I felt healthy and attractive, though I am certainly not going to win any self esteem awards I have spent a lot of my adult life feeling just fine about my curves.

Now is not one of those times in my life. At this moment, I feel like a disgusting blob. A feeling only encouraged by the regrowth of a problem that I had undergone surgery to get rid of.

That's right; my breasts, due to breast feeding. Have nearly doubled in size. Leaving me only two cup sized away from my pre surgery, back killing, disgusting, sagging, stretch marked knockers. And even if they aren't quite as bad as that, it's still hard to feel sexy with two gigantic misshapen milk pustules on your chest.

Of coarse the 20 pounds that remain from pregnancy aren't all in my breasts. Much of it has also settled in my thighs, my lower back and love handles, and of coarse, the sad looking empty lump of loose skin and fat that is my stomach. . . Oh and my arms, which sprouted some bright red stretch marks to match my stomach during pregnancy.

This, as vein and self centred as it may sound, is the only complaint I have about motherhood.

Never mind that my partner is sleeping on an air mattress in the living room so that the baby can nurse to sleep. And never mind the buckets of drool that have started coating everything we own with its cold slimy film in the last two weeks. And never mind that I haven't had more than the time it takes me to take a shower completely to myself in 4 months.

I am only concerned with putting my body back together. How it used to be at the very least, although better than before would be nice.

It's not even really entirely an image issue either. In the last two weeks of my pregnancy, pre eclampsia set in, my blood pressure sky rocketed to 150/95, my left hip started to go on strike, and it was frighteningly difficult for me to breath beyond what is normal for a woman in her 36th week of pregnancy.

These health concerns, it was pointed out by my doctor, were not necessarily directly contributed to by my weight, but my obesity certainly didn't help. And this scared me and das piper a lot more than we copped to at the time.

All that being said. Today I took a walk in this unseasonably warm weather to my friendly neighbourhood curves gym and after a long talk with one of their trainers, I purchased myself a membership for 2 months.

I am hoping that this, combined with our weekly fit for 2 aqua fit classes will be enough to help me start feeling a little less like a disgusting blob. And a little more like the healthy and attractive woman I know I can be.