Stagnant Pounds

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Let me just say it outright:  I am not one of those mothers who lost 20 pounds simply by giving birth. My baby was 7 something pounds, and I am convinced that when I left the hospital I was only 3 pounds lighter than when I came in.

Yes, I know, mathematically speaking... even medically speaking, that is an impossibility. And the hospital food didn't make up the difference either.

But my bathroom scale wouldn't lie to me.

No matter, I thought. I'm nursing this kid. This is the chance I have always been waiting for: I can magically transfer my body fat to someone who needs it more!

Only it didn't work. My baby, who was supposed to be getting chubby and saving rolls of fat for toddler terrorizing, stayed skinny. And me, who was supposed to be melting fat away and getting svelte enough to wear skinny jeans, stayed... well, you know... in this area of California it is known as the "F" word.

I keep hoping that I will find the magic switch that will start carting the pounds in the right direction. I haven't found it yet.

My skinny baby is of the opinion that anything on Mom's plate is a million times more appealing than what he's getting.  I pull out the low-fat, non-fat meal and, like a bird, he is right beside me with his mouth open wide.  I try to sneak anything high caloric onto his tray and two bites later his hands pop up to baby sign "all done".

Which is worse? To make myself another full serving of skim parfait or to finish off his leftover Brown Cow Cream Top yogurt?... or both?  Either way, the scale keeps giving us the same news day after day. I am not dropping the pounds and he is not packing them on.

I don't need diet tips; I live in Southern California where polite conversation consists of comparing freeways, smartphones, and diets.

No, I don't need to find a better diet. I just need a better bathroom scale.

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