This Is Why I’m Fat (and Poor)

The doctor’s scale really is the devil.

It doesn’t matter how many bathroom scales you’ve stepped on. You’ll ALWAYS be heavier on the one at the doctor’s office.

The worst time to find out you are twenty pounds overweight is when you are simultaneously being told you’re pregnant. Because that overwhelming sense to get on a diet and start running again goes right out the window.

It’s even more distressing when your doctor chirps that you’ve only gained three pounds and reminds you that a healthy gain would be between fifteen and twenty, but hey, why waste all of that in the first trimester?!

HO HO HO. HA HA HA.

It also means this belly is the culmination of pizza and other bad choices, NOT a burgeoning baby bump.

So, if I’m “healthy”, when it’s all said and done, I will have to lose a whopping forty plus pounds to get back to a reasonable weight.

How did this happen?

Well, for starters, I don’t exercise.

I used to. Oh yes, I’ve done it all, from stupid “dance” workout classes to yoga to running on a treadmill to hiring a personal trainer.

I’m also pretty good at dieting when I get unhealthily obsessed with counting calories.

That hasn’t happened in awhile.

But the real issues is this: I don’t cook. Again, I used to cook, but the non-schedule I’m on now doesn’t really coordinate well with making myself dinner.

The three main problems are: I don’t live walking distance from a grocery store and don’t have a car and I never know when I’m going to be at my apartment or my boyfriend’s house.

It makes no sense to buy anything perishable unless it’s in single servings and most likely going to be cooked that night. I don’t get off of work until six, so that means a stop at the grocery store on the way home which equates to three bus rides and an arrival time of around 7:30. This puts dinner on the table somewhere between 8 and 8:30, unless I do the cop out route of buying a rotisserie chicken and a frozen bag of vegetables.

And honestly, that doesn’t sound appealing nine times out of ten.

So…I eat out. A lot. Like, pretty much everyday. I know it’s horrible, but it’s the truth.

Most of the time it’s dinner. It’s not like I treat myself to a waffle and bacon before work or take myself out to lunch when I’m watching the baby (though in the past, I’d sometimes order delivery).

I KNOW THIS IS A PROBLEM.

I just don’t know an effective way of solving it. I suppose if I really wanted to fix this, on the days I don’t work, I’d buy groceries and plan meals for the week and then be at home those days and at my boyfriend’s the other nights.

But now that I’m being ENCOURAGED to gain weight, I’m much less motivated. Not to mention the fact that my boyfriend and I will more than likely be living with one another in the next six months, so my habits will change because of that. Which I’m sure he’ll be glad about because I know he’s rightfully concerned with my insane eating out rituals.

So I guess until then, I’ll still be paying way too much for a meal and also taking in far too many calories. Way more than even a pregnant lady should.

-Carly

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