Heavy

It's official: we are renaming our baby Gigantor. At Mia's four-month appointment, she weighed in at a whopping 16 lbs, 14 oz (birth weight was 7 lbs 13.8 oz), and measured 69 cm (27.2") long and 42 cm (16.5") around her head. She's in the 98th percentile for her age and rocking 6 month size clothing (which she will no doubt grow out of soon). Just for the record, neither my husband nor I are big people - we're pretty average.

As for me, of the 60 lbs (!!) I gained while pregnant, I've lost 51. I am dying for the last 9 to go away... but apparently not desperate enough to want to do any actual work to lose it, or give up eating... I miss my relatively flat belly, though. Fitting in to my pre-pregnancy jeans is still just a fantasy. I haven't given up hope, and refuse to buy larger clothing, so I haven't shopped in a year or so and the wardrobe is getting kind of desperate. I've heard the body retains the last few pounds while nursing and it's extra hard to get rid of... I'm using that thought to reassure myself these days!

I've never needed to really think about my weight that much. I've been one of those lucky people who stays around her optimum weight without a whole lot of effort. I started hitting the gym when I was 25 or so and I was always able to maintain a good level of fitness without working too hard at it. But now that I'm in my mid-thirties (ugh! they totally snuck up on me) and I've had the baby, and going to the gym seems to require scheduling around my husband's work, baby care and my low energy from lack of sleep, it's on my mind. I've been twice since Mia was born, which means twice in the last 7 months, as I wasn't going after 6 months pregnant... no wonder.

I know I am doing well, relatively - I try not to compare myself to others, but it's hard. At my mums' group, we're all soft mummies, some softer than others - and I'm on the less fluffy end. But at the cottage last week I was side by side with my sister-in-law, who is amazingly fit, not to mention nearly 10 years younger than I am, and childless - and I felt doughy and out of shape. If that wasn't incentive enough to lose these last pounds, I don't know what would be.

I hate not being able to wear the vast majority of the clothes in my closet, whether it's because they don't fit (shorts and jeans mostly) or because they're not nursing-compatible (tops and dresses). Boo.

Related:
When I was at the mall the other day with Mia, a woman came up to me and asked, "What formula do you have your baby on?"
"Formula?" I asked, bewildered.
"Yes, you know - Similac, Enfalac - which one?"
"OH!" I said, "None, she's breast fed."
"Ohhhhh," the lady said and walked away, looking slightly confused.

Weird, right? My husband thought it might be a generational thing (she was in her 50's/60's).