My Body Image

“Mommy, your belly is big.”

“Mommy, you’re fat.”

“Mommy, you’re as big as daddy.”

I know the girls aren’t trying to  be mean.  They don’t know what their words do to me.  But man, they hurt.  I try to block them out, I try to laugh them off, but it doesn’t work.  I am back to being the fat kid in school.  The one with fat ugly knees.  And thing is, I am.  I have put on so much weight.  I am the heaviest I have ever been, outside of pregnancy.

One hundred and twenty-nine pounds is what I weighed when I got pregnant with Patrice.  I had worked hard to get the weight off.  It allowed me to avoid sugar issues in my pregnancy with her.

It took me a while, but I got back down to 132 after Patrice was born.  Then medications started curtailing my exercise and others increased my appetite exponentially.

So here I am, big.  Really big.  I hate it.  I hate seeing myself in the mirror.  When I don’t see myself, I can pretend my exercise I am doing is making a difference.  When I do see myself, I see the truth, a very, very overweight woman who obviously doesn’t take care of herself.

I am beyond frustrating.  Since I started exercising and slowly cleaning up my eating…my weight has gone up.  Five pounds up.  I hate it.  I can’t stand it.  I am so ashamed.

I’m losing hope.