Very shortly after giving birth I was back to my normal weight. I felt great. I was happy. The acne that came with the pregnancy was gone and my skin looked healthy. My hair fell nicely. I was rested because the baby slept well and I with her, and because I wasn’t working for a few months. But over the past three years, I’ve worked my way back up to nearly the weight I was prior to giving birth. I dress like it, too.
When someone is sick, you want them to eat and fatten up so you eat along with them. That’s what I did with my grandma. I’m pretty sure we ate a slice of cake or pie every night for a couple of months. And, since I’m a stress eater, and because I had a lot going on at work, I was pigging out there, too.
I was happy to be getting by so well in life, considering the circumstances. I didn’t really bother to look in the mirror.
More recently Prozac and the Depo shot were the contributing factors to the escalation in the digits on my scale. I think it was just last week that I looked in the mirror and saw how round I really am. I have no excuse, I’m not pregnant. I just look that way. I feel that tired, too.