The day I went to the doctor's office and found out I was pregnant--seven years ago, I weighed 247 pounds. A couple months later when I went in for my first OB appointment, I weighed 232 pounds. They yelled at me for losing so much. (Like I knew or could help it that I was throwing up every three seconds. Anyone else throw up in the doctor's office parking lot? That always seemed to be a good target for some reason.)
Over the next few months, I slowly gained back that 15 pounds. I never wanted the Hubster to look at the scale, but I know he did. (Sneaky bastard.) As I passed 247 and edged closer to 250, I got more and more nervous. I did not want to hit that number.
On what turned out to be my last OB appointment--the do-you-want-to-be-induced-in-3-days-or-in-7? appointment--I hit it. 250. I cried.
Six days after Little Sister was born, I had a wicked case of mastitis. I was throwing up in the shower sick. It was also her first doctor's appointment and I got on the scale, too. After having my seven pound, four ounce little bundle of joy, I weighed 230 pounds again. Very exciting. The doctor gave me some antibiotics and told me to keep breast feeding and said the weight would fly off.
230 became 250 again. 260. 274. That's the highest I ever weighed myself at, when I started Weight Watchers 3 years ago.
Those are numbers I will never see again.
A couple of people have asked me where I'm at now...and I know that I haven't been sharing the numbers this time around, for some reason.
It wasn't intentional. Just something I didn't think of. I'm not shy about my weight any more. I'm proud of where I've come from and what I've conquered.
When I started WW on November 3, 2008, I weighed 258.8 pounds.
At my last weigh-in, on Monday, I weighed 243.8.
More numbers I will never see again.
I'll never forget where I came from.
And I'll never go back.
Not this time.