baby weight

Why the f**k are you still here?! Honestly, it’s been 6 months. I think it’s time for you to go. Seriously.


No, not Jackie Robinson’s number (or Mariano Rivera)

No, not 101010 in binary code

No, not any reference to Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

42 is the number of pounds I gained when I checked into triage on that delivery day.

20 hours and 7lbs 2oz later. I am a mom with a brand new son. As we approach the 6 month mark, I am somewhat satisfied with the weight loss. But these last 7lbs are killing me. I’m in the in-between maternity clothes and regular clothes stage. Therefore, my wardrobe is a combination of both.

Even though I have lost the majority of the baby weight, I’m still not entirely happy with how I look.  While I smile slightly at the scale, I am repulsed by the mirror. My linea negra is still there. And yes, I have stretch marks. Right around my belly button. Like a picture frame. Mocking me.

All the lotions and potions I rubbed on my belly didn’t help. Guess the doctor was right.

I know I should look at myself with pride knowing I have a healthy, baby boy. These marks are just my “tiger stripes”. Whatevs.

They’re not horrible in dim lighting. But one stop at a department store dressing room with harsh, fluorescent lighting, and I want to go crawl in a hole.

My husband doesn’t care at all. He’s either really awesome or a really good liar. Considering he’s my husband, let’s go with “awesome”.

With time, I hope they fade. With time, I hope I don’t care anymore.

I don’t know if it’s one of nature’s cruel tricks. To give a woman the gift of a child, but also change her body to the point where’s unrecognizable.

There I go, blaming other people. It’s takes one person and one person alone to lose this baby weight and that is me.

I need to learn to appreciate my body. I need to focus on health, not body image. I need to be less hard on myself.

But seriously, baby weight, it’s been real but I don’t think we can see each other anymore. Pack up your shit and go.