Sunday, March 21, 2010

I weigh 143 pounds.

Thanks to my mixed Mexican and European heritage, I've always had a small, curvy body. Not a perfect body, but one that never caused me embarrassment by being too big or too small.

So some days it's a little weird when I open the closet to get dressed and remember that I have gone from this:

To this:

I know. I am massive.
Like a poster wife for pregnant ladies.
Even though I'm not quite six months along.
I'm not sure how much I weighed when I got pregnant.
But I sure know my weight now.
143 pounds.

I'm not complaining though.
I try not to wear frumpy clothes and every time I feel that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when my skirts won't zip or when I see the scale hit numbers I've never seen on a scale before, I remember this:

In five or six months, I'll have my waist line (mostly) back and my clothes will fit again.
And better?

I'll have one of these.
A snuggly, happy baby boy who cries, sleeps, poops, and eats.
A little boy who I will love ridiculously for the rest of my life.
And if I never wear a size 4 or 6 again, it'll be worth it.