Something happened to me today. A woman I see several times a week asked me when my baby is due. I don’t know how she didn’t get the memo about what happened, but I’ve been thinking this whole time that I don’t look pregnant anymore, or at the very least, I don’t look like I’m getting more pregnant. Apparently I’ve been wrong. Apparently, despite the fact that I’ve now lost 11 pounds, I still look six months pregnant. Ugh.
I know she just wasn’t thinking. I know time flies, and she probably didn’t realize it’s been three months since I told her I was expecting. I know she just didn’t take the time to put two and two together to figure out that things aren’t how they ought to be. I know she’s had her own problems and worries, and that what is the most enormous thing in the world to me is not so crucial to her. I know all of that, but it was still discouraging.
She just kept looking at me like she didn’t believe me – not like shocked disbelief that something horrible had happened, but like she thought I was lying to her about having lost my baby. Or like maybe I was never pregnant in the first place. I don’t know which, but it really seemed like she thought I was putting her on. What kind of sick person would that make me?
The whole thing made me immensely frustrated because I’ve made such positive changes in my lifestyle, which have resulted in me feeling a lot better most days. I still have sad days and sad moments, but for the most part, I feel SO much better about myself, my body, and my choices. And with one stupid question, this woman made me doubt all of it. One question brought all my sadness back up and made me really discouraged about my weight in spite of the progress I’ve made. One question made me want to come home, cancel my plans for the afternoon, put on my PJs, and crawl into bed. I did all of those things.
However, I did not do the other things I wanted to do – order a pizza and eat the whole thing, cry myself to sleep and nap until my husband got home, then bake brownies and watch a movie while I eat the entire pan (possibly including the pan itself).
I don’t know if it was simply not having the wherewithal to order a pizza, not having the energy to go to the store and buy brownie mix, the guilt of letting my fresh produce go to waste by not sticking to my meal plan, or the grace of Almighty God alone, but I ate my lunch as planned and watched an episode of Chuck on Netflix. Now, I’m going to drink some water, change into my workout clothes, and do my exercises. One decision at a time. One meal at a time. One workout at a time.