So, I’ve been a bad blogger. I finally opened up and shared this site to a few people on my friends list, and then completely abandoned it. I’m so sorry. It’s been a busy summer, namely the July wedding season, and I’ve just gotten over the fourth trimester.
Say whaaa’?? The fourth trimester is the three-ish months after birth which is supposedly an extension of the time baby spent in the womb. Lots of new transition (obviously), but when I thought I got the hang of everything, Mother Nature hits me on the back of the head with a mega curveball.
I’m going freakkkkin’ bald.
I jinxed it, I jinxed it, I jinxed it. So ever since I was 10 years old with thick, luscious locks of hair, it has been falling out. I’m a brunette (dark dark dark brunette), so apparently we lose more hair a day compared to blondes, redheads, etc. Whatever. I had a total shedding problem. The floors are never ever fully clean because not a minute after I finish sweeping or vacuuming, I’m already busting out a brand new trail of strandy-doos. Whenever I go to a friend’s house I’m completely embarrassed at how I can’t spend some time there without leaving anything behind. They could clone me… or cast spells on me. I’d never be able to rob a bank – HAH! They’d just sweep the floor and be like “Oh, it was that silly Heather. P.S. check out this dustpan full of wig-money!”
During the pregnancy, I was on cloud-freaking-nine. You know the little mesh drain thing that you put in the tub so that your pipes don’t get clogged? DIDN’T NEED IT! Never in my life has the tub emptied so quickly and efficiently. The floors were clean, the carpets were still beige, and it was good. I kept reading about this post-partum hair loss and was convinced it wasn’t going to happen to me.
OH, IT HAPPENED.
It was a sad, sad day. Someone on my mommy group pointed out that she had started losing her hair. I thought to myself “hmm… if it hasn’t happened yet, I must have skipped that part.” Wrong, wrong, wrong. Literally the next day I brushed my hair and it came out looking like I had just ran it through an old cat. It was like that scene with Marsha Brady in The Craft. Blechhhh. To this day, at 16 weeks, my hair is still falling out with a vengeance. I just read it can take up to 6 months for the hormones to balance it all out, and that I’m not going bald – my body’s just stealing back all the hair fun I had while I was pregnant. Until then, I guess I’ll continue pulling loose strands out of Sweet Pea’s fingers, toes, neck, diaper and outfits. (Yah. I don’t know how they get there.)
On the bright side, I am back to pre-pregnancy weight, plus four pounds! Except those four pounds are most likely in my apparently huge knockers. I went from a 34 B to a 34 D. Whooo! I hate them. Well, not haaaaate, but clothes are more confusing now. I have this awesome Sue Wong dress that I bought in NYC probably the day I got pregnant. It’s a size 4. I was planning to wear it to a wedding that I went to 3 weeks ago. Did it fit? Sure, but I would have to hold my breath, and make sure my boobs were empty at all times. If I got engorged at any point, that zipper is a goner. Big boobs are so over-rated, what was I ever complaining about?!? Fun fact: I took a shower one day and thought I had dried myself completely. Nope. Because now I have underboob, and I have to consciously make an effort to lift+dry, as opposed to the previously efficient towel shimmy. Also, V-necks are now mildly inappropriate depending on where I’m headed. There’s just so much cleavage normally only found within the confines of a “Hello, Dolly!” double push up brae from La Senza (which, by the way, now take up more drawer real estate than their usefulness provides).
My waist is also somewhat back to normal! On the same receipt as that size 4 dress, was a pair of size 25 Hudson jeans. Or are they jeggings? No idea – they didn’t fit me in May, but they did in June! I’ll admit they’re a tad stretchy. But a few days ago (after realizing that almost all of my summer clothing is in a storage unit 30km away…) Dan bought me a pair of denim shorts from American Eagle in a size…. drumroll please… 4!! This is crazy, I never wear size 4 bottoms. 5 or 7, maybe, but never 4. My stomach isn’t even flat either so, like… what happened to my hips?
I’m gonna go ahead and say that this quick weight loss (and I did lose quite a bit: 3 days before I gave birth I was at 156 lbs, with pre-pregnancy weight being 120 lbs) is most likely due to the fact that I am breastfeeding, and I am sticking (albeit leniently) to the low carb-high protein diet I had to maintain due to the gestational diabetes. I’ve started taking Sweet Pea on morning walks around my neighbourhood and incorporating more standing-in-place-of-sitting whenever I can.
But honestly, I still can’t put myself in a two-piece. Not because I’m unhappy with my figure, but because my tummy looks like a route diagram for CP Rail. I’m not talking stretch marks, I’m talking linea nigra. There’s this big ugly brown stripe going from the bottom of my bra to the bottom of my ‘ha. It’s like I’m split in half. I’ve got a Prime Meridian. I don’t like it, and I don’t wanna show it. Waa, waa, pout.
The biggest changes, however, are obviously with Sweet Pea. First, she discovered her hands. I sat her down one night and next thing I knew she had both palms facing her, as if she was trying to play back whether she took 6 shits that day or 10. A few days after that, she was staring at the two fists she had made. A week later, both hands were clasped together 8 hours a day. Now she’s actually grabbing and holding toys, as well as anything else she can get her little claws on (literally… I’m already cutting her nails every day… someone help me…) and it’s usually an automatic flight to her mouth. My hair has become an unsuspecting target, and she may be half the reason I’m shedding faster than a dead Christmas tree. The saddest part was when she held her pacifier in her mouth, and put it back in when it fell out. I think I actually yelled out “Nooo… my baby!” and a premonition of her asking to borrow the car keys flashed before my eyes.
She’s also filling out quite nicely with chunky legs and enough neck rolls to hide a day’s worth of provisions. My little pudgie: already on the 2nd rise setting on her cloth diapers but yet to grow out of her 0-3 month onesies. Lately she’s been wanting attention. Lots of attention. And not just “hold me, carry me” attention. She wants you to interact. She wants you to move and sway and swing and sing. She’s also babbling a ton. Most of it seems angry, or like she’s trying really hard to convince you of something. It’s hilarious, but of course, doesn’t leave me time to get much done. Babywearing only gets me so far, and of course I can’t just sit with her on my lap and type away a blog post, but I will find a way. Must. Find. A. Way.
Today, I discovered I can poop without her crying for me if I set her on a folded towel inside her “whale-of-a-tub.” Thank you, Fisher-Price. My bowels are at peace once again.