I laughed when it happened. It was yesterday at NHFC while dressing after my ultrasound. Then I went to work hoping that my long sweater did not ride up to expose my busted zipper. How did I become this person?

Let me tell you something and then back it up with photographic evidence: I used to be thin. Like, actually thin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t really diet per se, but I did take diet pills that made me never want to eat. They worked. I’m not even going to tell you exactly what they were because this is the internet and I’ll probably get arrested, but let’s just say I put together a concoction and used things in ways that they weren’t intended to be used. Don’t judge me. I was thin and pretty, remember?

It’d be so easy to blame this weight gain on infertility, so that’s what I’m going to do. As soon as we started TTC, I went off the diet pills. I was also newly married and enjoying the prospect of cooking well-rounded meals. Before I lived with Eric, I used to have a bowl of peas for dinner and call it a night. That’s still one of my favorite meals (but he is not too keen on it).

That’s the thing, guys – I’m largely in denial. I still pick up a pair of size 2 jeans and think, “Well that looks about right.” I still gravitate towards the extra smalls. I have an itty bitty coworker who laments her gain of microscopic pounds and cries that she went from a size 0 to a size 2. I used to be her! Seriously! I desperately want to join in, but when I pipe up with, “Oh my God, I gained, too,” there’s no chorus of “Shut up, you’re so thin!” No one says that to me anymore. It’s really sad.

Fat crept up on me. I never thought I would be one of those people (like, how can you not notice an extra 30 pounds? Are you blind?). I think it finally sunk in around my birthday last year. I remember my dad snapped a photo of the lovely moment at Texas Roadhouse where they make you sit on a saddle while everyone sings to you. I looked at the photo and thought, “How can that be my arm? Whose chubby arm is photo bombing me?” It made me realize that I hadn’t liked a photo in a while. Then I slowly pieced together that none of my clothes fit. And yeah, it really was my arm. I would show you the photo but I untagged myself and deleted it from Facebook. I wish I could delete it from memory.

Then I started the injectables and it was really over. I swear, I gained 10 lbs this January alone. After digging out my best flowing, oversized shirts and wraps and praising God that it was winter and I could at least cover up in sweaters, I braced for a potential pregnancy knowing that I already weighed what I wanted to weigh at 40 weeks. I keep reading all these articles about breastfeeding being such a great calorie burner (oh em gee, not like I’m overly hopeful or anything reading BREASTFEEDING articles! Let’s get pregnant first, how about that). Then I mention them to the moms I know and they roll their eyes and say, “Yeah, OKAY. Right.”

I get it. I do. This is all for a higher purpose. My mom swears she could never get pregnant weighing less than 120 or while taking the concoction of diet pills (which SHE actually introduced me to. Thanks, Mom). I don’t think bony/angular/gaunt is an inviting description for a growing child. So I obliged and became soft/cushion-y/warm. It just sucks right now.

You know what? It’s more than just vanity. I don’t feel like me in this body. I’m long past the days of dressing like a total hoochie, going to bars and acting all offended when the guys stare. But I have all these clothes, and I like my clothes. I don’t want to start over just because my self control has gone to shit. But then at the same time, I want my body to change in huge, life-altering ways. I’m ready for that kind of fat, I’m just not ok with this pointless fat.

I don’t even care when you start to show, my first stop after a BFP will be some store selling maternity clothing. I cannot wait to do it. My wardrobe is at this weird place right now and I don’t want to (and can’t afford to) buy anything new. Plus, I hope it would be a waste to do that anyway. I also have this weird obsession with maternity clothes and have wanted to be buying stuff all along, but have not pulled the trigger yet, because clearly that would be considered “jinxing it.” I keep thinking I’m not going to have anything to wear, even though plenty of people have promised bags of clothes. I just want to look cute.

I almost entitled this “my obligatory ‘I’m so fat’ post” because in my travels through IF blogs, I’ve seen so many. We’re all stressed out, freaking out, pumped full of hormones, bloated, depressed, and well acquainted with Ben and Jerry. So I know, I’m not alone. I’m just so ready for the next part where you don’t notice my other fat because you’re so focused on my huge round belly. Can I get there, please?