Motherhood is Fattening

There is little doubt, in my mind at least, that motherhood is fattening. And as far as I know, there is no low carb version. I was never really fat until becoming a mother. Sure, I had had an encounter or two (more like 23) with unfriendly scales before, but it took motherhood to get me my membership in the Obesity Club.

It all started when I got that plus sign on the pregnancy test. I was so excited that I simply had to celebrate with my two best buds: Ben & Jerry. I didn't toast with champagne, instead I ate two pints of Chunky Monkey with a Chubby Hubby chaser. Afterall, I did need to increase my calcium intake. Strong bones and teeth and all that.

I quit smoking cold turkey so I also quit running. The way I saw it, if I was no longer slowly poisoning my cardiovascular system with tobacco, then there was no need for me to kill myself on a treadmill. I was even steven. Besides, pregnancy has it's own aches and pains. Why add to it with all that needless exercise?

When the queasiness of morning sickness popped in on me, I treated it to a full on banquet. I stuffed everything in my mouth. Nothing was too heavy or greasy for this sufferer. Most people when sick to their stomach refuse to eat or they eat lightly. No, not me. When sick, I must eat, and eat good food. I once spent the night in the ER hooked up to IV fluids since I couldn't keep even water down. When discharged, I went home and demanded my mom order me a pizza.

"No," she said incredulously. "You can have some broth and saltines."

I negociated my way up to a package of ramen noodles to which I added some ham and two slices of cheese when she wasn't looking. I also grabbed several Pop Tarts, a box of Little Debbie brownies, and some Cheezits for dessert. Hey, I was sick! I needed to feel better and some shitty hot water bullion and crackers made of dried paste just wasn't going to cut it.

It didn't cut it when I was a kid with the stomach flu and it didn't cut it when I was (almost) a mom and miserable from the HCG poisoning my body suffered from for the first 13 weeks of pregnancy. I basically ate nonstop right through the first trimester.

Oh, and forget diet pop. No way was I going to expose my precious unborn child to potentially harmful chemicals. Instead, I drank so much high fructose corn syrup that my pancreas went into shock I and developed Gestational Diabetes. No surprise then, that precious babe was born so fat that she didn't need to gain any weight for 6 full weeks.

I gained 10lbs every month. Month after month, for nine full months. You do that math. I was so big that when my friend Holly came to visit us, her husband Ron took one look at me and said, "Well, I guess we don't have to go anywhere for whale watching."

When I went home for my baby shower, my great, great, great aunt Doris (thin as a rail since she never had children) greeted everyone as they walked in the door with, "Look out! She's as big as a house!" whispered as loud as a lion's roar. She later embraced me in a fragile hug and said, "Don't worry, honey. That weight'll come right off. I've seen 'em all blow up like you. Well, maybe not that big. But they lost the weight. You will, too."

And that's where they get you. Everyone tells you that the weight will just "melt right off" after the baby is born. Especially if you are breastfeeding. Weightloss is touted as one of the magic benefits to breastfeeding by that lying Le Leche League. Yeah, right. And my tits are the size of mosquito bites and produce White Russians after 9pm.

The truth is that a nursing mother's body holds on to fat "like a bulldog to a bone," as my friend Michelle puts it. You could eat nothing but lettuce and egg whites, exercise like an Olympic athlete in training, and pump yourself up on caffeine. The only results you'll see is stomach upset, shin splints, and a cranky baby that only sleeps 10 minutes at a time due to the caffe latte coming from your udders.


It's some kind of evolved protection mechanism, to safeguard against famine. Fat is like money in the bank and I got lots of twinkie investments stored up on my ass just in case the locusts descend upon Safeway. My offspring and I could live off the interest of Doritos and Cherry Garcia for six complete months. I guess I can take pride that in a "survival of the fittest" world, I would beat out Deborah Messing or Gwyneth Paltrow. They and their offspring would shrivel and turn to dust since they didn't bank their food. Silly ninnies.

There are those who encourage mothers to embrace and celebrate their new, softer, rounder bodies. I will admit that if I were my child I would love that saggy piece of flesh that once was my abdomen. It's so soft it's almost fluffy and makes the perfect pillow for watching Dora the Explorer.

I, however, am less than pleased. I am not a pillow, I am a person. I may be a mother, but I am also a woman who wants to be attractive. I am human and I seek approval from society. I need to be a normal weight. I need to be a normal size again.

The time has come to buckle down. All this extra baggage around my middle is only going to come off one way and it will be a hard road to success. I know if I just stay the course, be persistent, unrelenting, and determined, I can achieve my dream. Our dream. The Fat Mamas' Dream. We overweight mothers need to band together and work toward one goal: Government Funded Plastic Surgery!!!

Ha. You thought I was going to say "lose weight." Like I said, that ain't happening. Been there. Done that. Got the stretchmarks. That weight isn't going to just melt off. As long as I'm still nursing, the only thing that is melting around here is my Ben & Jerry's Half Baked. I need to learn to eat quicker.