There is something very odd going on in my closet.
I have several pairs of pants that I purchased after Westley was born that all claim to be the same size as my pre-pregnancy jeans. In fact, I'm wearing one of those pairs of pants now. But my pre-pregnancy jeans don't fit. Not even close.
Okay, that's not true. They're perfect around my calves.
Seriously, though, it's making me a little crazy. I know about variations in sizing from designer to designer, I know that different cuts and styles and rises can mean going up or down a size, and I know that what I'm really supposed to care about is keeping my body healthy and being as good a mother as I can be to my boy. But at the end of the day? I just want to fit into those stupid fucking jeans again, dammit!
I'm about seven pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight (on a good day--and 23 over my goal weight) and I feel like it's not only in the usual places. I suddenly have these hips and thighs that were never really there before, and I've got a lot more Meow Mix goin' on in the back. I want to call it "baby weight" but my baby isn't really a baby any more. Really, it's just weight. Weight I still have to lose, because I ate lots of French fries while I was pregnant. And because being tired and depressed and snowed in and nursing a boy who loooves to nurse and cuddle don't add up to much in the way of exercise.
Fortunately, I feel like I'm finally getting on track. I started carving out 30 minutes to walk in the evenings. It's not much, but at least it's movement. Occasionally, I even manage to sweat. It's only been a week, but I seem to be sleeping better, and I think I have more energy during the day. And not wanting to undo any progress I might have made in my 30 minutes of aerobic iPod-listening and magazine-reading keeps me from snacking in the evenings. Of course, it's way too soon to see any progress in the jeans department, but I feel so virtuous after going for my walk that it's a real temptation to try them on (again).