After sitting around and feeling lousy and not eating very well for the first six months of Westley's life, I was bound and determined to be out of my "fat pants" and back to my pre-pregnancy weight by December of last year. Unfortunately, the six-months-is-enough estimate (which I thought was generous) to lose the weight turned out to be not quite enough. It ended up taking nine months of watching my diet, attempting to exercise, and giving myself occasional pep-talks, but I got there.
I remember one of my midwives saying during an early postpartum visit, "It'll take as long to get the weight off as it did to put it on." I think I rolled my eyes a little. In order to survive the idea of having to gain any weight in the first place, I had convinced myself that I hadn't gained that much, and I would totally be back in my teeniest jeans a few months. Maybe lack of sleep was making me mildly delusional. I don't know why it didn't sink in that eating well and exercising when you're depressed and caring for a little baby is, uh, really fucking hard.
Anyway, I may be three months behind my goal, but my behind is three sizes smaller. All of my pants fit (yes, even those pants). Of course, they don't all fit well (I'm about 13 lbs. from my goal weight), but now that I'm exercising semi-regularly, I think I'm on my way. I just hope it doesn't take another nine months.