As I stood in the recovery room, freshly stitched after my Cesarean section, my OBGYN, a remarkably kind and brilliant woman who could easily grace a magazine cover, leaned in with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” she said in her gentle French accent. “Your incision is low. You’ll be able to wear a bikini.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” I thought to myself, laughing ironically, “What would I have done without my bikini?” Then, with a chuckle, I responded, “Doc, you knew me before pregnancy. I wasn’t exactly rocking a bikini then, and I sure won’t be doing it now.”
Before contemplating pregnancy, I was a size 22/24, and it was evident even to someone without medical training that carrying a baby at that size wouldn’t be ideal. So, I worked hard, joining a weight loss program and exercising, shedding 42 pounds in the process. However, at a size 16/18, I was still technically overweight. I walked into my first OB appointment buzzing with excitement about our growing family, only to be met with a dose of reality when the doctor advised, “Due to your pre-pregnancy weight, we recommend limiting your weight gain to 10-15 pounds during pregnancy.” Just like that, my excitement fizzled.
During those months, my body began to crave brownie sundaes, and I allowed myself to indulge in one each day—just a small brownie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I tried to maintain a healthy diet overall, but my OB kept checking in. I laid out my balanced meals but also confessed to my daily treat. “Maybe just a bite of the brownie?” she suggested, her petite stature making the question seem almost absurd.
“Doc,” I replied, “I’m doing my best, but I’m eating the brownie.”
“Okay, how about just an eighth of a brownie?” she countered.
Who even eats an eighth of a brownie?
In the second trimester, my husband and I took to mall walking to stay active. As I peered into Victoria’s Secret, the models showcased in the window seemed impossibly thin yet busty. I caught my reflection and gasped. “I’m enormous!” I thought. Five and a half months pregnant and I looked more like a waddling marshmallow than someone expecting a baby. It wasn’t until I was seven months along that my pregnancy became apparent. At work, it was as if I’d been indulging in too many late-night snacks, rather than preparing for motherhood.
By the time August rolled around and I was 40 weeks pregnant, I waddled through the grocery store, preparing for a family picnic. As I passed by other women, I sensed their pity. One even approached me, saying, “Oh, honey, you look so uncomfortable. I remember when I was pregnant with twins.”
In that moment, I broke down right there in the condiment aisle, sobbing, “There’s only one in there! It’s not twins; I’m just fat and pregnant!” My husband quickly apologized to the bewildered woman as she hurried away.
I may have overreacted a bit, but exhaustion and discomfort had reached their peak. It was the second time that day someone had suggested I was carrying twins.
Despite all the warnings about the risks associated with being overweight during pregnancy, my experience was surprisingly uneventful. I watched close friends struggle with infertility and others contend with complications like gestational diabetes and high blood pressure—all while I sailed through my pregnancies. Sure, I went eight days overdue and underwent C-sections, but I recovered smoothly and without complications.
My son arrived weighing 8 pounds and 15 ounces, adorably chubby from the start. The following morning, I eagerly stepped onto the scale, anticipating a significant weight drop from giving birth. To my shock, I had gained two pounds! How was that even possible? I had forgotten the IV fluids that had left me looking like a balloon.
Ultimately, all three of my children came into the world as delightful little bundles of joy, each adorably plump with rosy cheeks. And even though seven months postpartum, I still look somewhat pregnant, my precious baby girl is peacefully asleep in her crib while I relish a solid night’s sleep.
And you know what? That feels so much better than being skinny ever could!
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In summary, while being an overweight mother may come with its challenges, my journey was filled with love, light, and three beautiful children who are thriving.