Monday I wrote about how I’m getting down on myself about my weight and weight loss. A lot of you have suggested new clothes, which I have done a fair amount of stocking up on new clothes that fit me well while still allowing me to breastfeed easily. I have a new pairs of jeans that aren’t hideous, some sweaters that look decent, a couple of skirts, and I recently picked up a new dress for when I go out without Remy. I’m still rocking the nursing tanks because right now underwires are not my friends, not sure they ever were. My clothes aren’t the main problem I’m having. Sure, I love to torture myself by picking through my pre-pregnancy clothes when I’m in the mood to feel down, but that’s every once in awhile. I think it’s pretty normal to do that. I even put my nice wool coat on during a recent cold snap – it fit beautifully from the waist down, but I couldn’t button the damn thing over my boobs. Maybe next winter. Probably not.
Even when I feel like I look good in my clothes I still feel like the fattest one in the room. I’ve never been thin by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve never felt like this before. I always felt average or ‘above average’ – maybe a bit heavier than some people around me. I know I shouldn’t be comparing myself to other people because we all carry weight differently, we have different body types, blah blah blah, but it’s painful to hear other women who are calling themselves fat when I’m sitting next to them with easily 50-70 lbs on them. When I hear someone call themselves fat I always panic and wonder what they think of me if they think they’re fat. Not exactly the healthiest mindset, but that’s all I can think about when I hear someone complain about their weight.
It doesn’t help that every time I see a photo of myself I can’t believe I’m that big. I think the mirrors in my house are all jacked up because I don’t look that big at home. With all this technology can’t we just have a camera that doesn’t add 10 lbs in the first place? Anyway, I just needed to vent.