Wait, weight - don't tell me.

At my two-week check up, my midwife (whom I love to pieces) said, in words more gentle than these, "You have four months to lose this weight and still call it baby weight. After that, it's just WEIGHT."

That really hit home with me, and I was determined to use the extra calories that breastfeeding burned to my advantage. I was eating well and walking with the Bean and her silly dog every day for an hour. The weather was beautiful, she loved the fresh air, and we all benefited. The weight was falling off.

Then my maternity leave ended. I went back to work just before a huge project deadline at work. 12-hour days nixed our daily walks, and stress drove me into Bean Mama stress eating mode (my eternal weakness). It didn't help that I work from home and my office is four feet from the kitchen. Winter descended, the days shortened, and my comfort eating increased.

Once I piled work on top of sleep deprivation, salads and broiled fish just did not appeal to me. I deserved pizza, damn it, and a key lime pie with a side of blueberry muffins to go with the Greek chicken wrap (oh, heavenly GCW).

(On a side note, I was able to get some plus-sized modeling work.)

The magic four-month mark came and went; weight was static. DAMN! I missed the window. I can't seem to get back into the zone. I ordered a couple "post partum" work out DVDs, which are currently collecting dust. Pre-pregnancy, I did hour-long kickboxing classes 4-5 days a week and ate well. Now I'm a huge, unmotivated blob. And I have to be in a wedding in T-minus 3 months. And summer is speeding toward me like a locomotive (can I still wear sweaters and my Lane Giant jeans when it's 80 degrees out?).

It's time to stop making excuses. The Bean is eating solid food now, and I want to instill healthy habits in her. I've got to get back on track.