Today I got my first post-baby body check out. Granted, it was by a chubby cook at Smashburger. He had a pleasant face, but certainly wasn’t my ideal ogler. It would have been better for my self-esteem had a dimpled frat boy with muscular arms eyeballed me. But I guess any elevator eyes are better than none. Or is that true? Did this chubby cook think he was in my league? That he could get a date with me by hand-delivering my food to me? That I was just plump enough that I would go out with him but not so plump that he’d be embarrassed to be seen with me?
The pounds are melting off, well, I should say sweating off to be more accurate. I lost two pounds in a day by doing virtually nothing. Hopefully this continues until I’m in the 140s. But I’m also not getting my hopes up. I’ve had a baby before: I know you don’t magically revert back to your pre-baby weight without putting some serious effort into it. I’m wearing maternity pants and my bigger non-maternity shirts. That’s one good thing about having a large chest: you have large shirts to fit into after having a baby. That’s the only good thing, though, as far as I can tell. These people with their breast enlargements confuse me. I had watermelon-sized breasts for two days while I was engorged and it was pretty horrific. Why you would choose to add weight into your bra will never make sense to the girl who desperately wishes there was less weight in her’s.
But I’m digressing. The point of this post was for a mere moment I didn’t feel pregnant or like a postpartum blob: I felt like a woman that could be checked out again – even if just by Chubs the Cook. Not the biggest self-esteem boost in the world, but a boost nonetheless.