I gained weight this week. Ugh. I took a break from the diet, which wasn’t a deliberate move but a slippery slide down into the delicious world of shrimp tacos, full-size sandwiches and foods that I can’t justify with: “But this has the good kind of fat!” No, there’s just fat in that fat (and scrumptious) spam sushi platter. And I’m looking at you, bowl of fruity pebbles with your super sweet milk residue and voodoo magic because I cannot have just one bowl but hey! It’s gluten-free!
I wish I had TJ’s metabolism. At his 12-month check-up, he weighed in at 22 pounds, only 35% on the chart for weight. While he is very healthy, this low weight doesn’t make any sense when you see how much this child eats. He consumes food like a toddler, shoveling scrambled eggs, rice, broccoli, peas, blueberries, crackers, bread into his waiting maw. He leads with his mouth, seeing the world through a “Are You Going to Finish That” filter, only he doesn’t ask the question. He doesn’t have words yet! He just intercepts any food headed toward your mouth, especially if I’m the one holding the spoon.
I’m not very happy about my own weight gain, but I’ll back into the right groove, the one that lets me dream about smaller sized pants and dresses that aren’t from the maternity section. Forever 21 will be the store where I buy awesome jewelery, not the prison sentence of my size in pants. So I have to be weaned off the sweet teat of full-whip mochas. It’ll be tilapia fillets and spinach salads which I’m okay but not totally excited about. But I can’t let myself think that, I have to think this is a luxury. This is a treat.
But how jealous I am of my lightweight boy who is so consumed by food he can’t even smile for a photo because he might lose some of the rice noodles. Priorities!