Why I’ve Sworn Off Nutella (gasp!)

One of the most difficult aspects of being a chick is weight. People’s perceptions of us, our own self-esteem about it, and how to deal with food in a general

way.

 

As a mom of a thirteen-year old teenaged girl (go ahead, pray for me now), I feel as if I’m dealing with this twice.

 

Some history: Always athletic, I was a cheerleader and gymnast since age 9. (I can still do a mean cartwheel.) Weight and fitness was never an issue for me, throughout my childhood and into my mid-thirties.

 

I’d never gained more weight than was normal for my frame until I became pregnant with my daughter, thirteen years ago. I gained about 40 or 50 pounds, and within a few months, I was back down to my pre-pregnancy weight of 125. Given my 5’4″ frame, this was a good weight for me. Getting postpartum depression and smoking (never a good idea), along with daily workouts, seemed to help. I just had no desire to eat. I also had to go back to work full-time so I was quite busy. Food was an afterthought.

 

Things changed with my second pregnancy: I ended up with gestational diabetes and gained 5 pounds just looking at a peach. Once I had gained over 60 pounds, I couldn’t look at the scale anymore when my OB weighed me. Despite his protestations that it was a pregnancy thing only and the weight would fly off, there was no consoling me. Listen, intellectually I knew to eat healthy and to do whatever it took to have a healthy baby. Viscerally, though, I felt like a huge alien cow. Being put on bedrest for the last 3 months of the pregnancy didn’t help either.

 

Because gestational babies tend to weigh more, and he was in breech position, they decided a C-section was in order. It’s as icky and weird as you’d think it would be — your guts on a table while this live screaming thing is pulled from you. I felt like I was in the Alien movie. So did my body — my body temp went dangerously low and recovery was slow and painful. Add to that the fact that they double-dosed me on laxatives before heading home, and our first night as parents of two children will be a nightmare that will live in infamy, forever.

 

I became so incredibly sick from the surgery, I couldn’t even sit up without terrible nausea and dizziness. This went on for about a week and I was heartbroken that I could barely even hold this new life without horrendous problems. Meds helped and ultimately, a lovely colonoscopy (ever have one of those? Special.) revealed foreign bacteria and the need for some reconstruction. Yay me.

 

Add to that the extra weight put on my neck and shoulder, and I was a painful mess. It wasn’t pretty.

 

Two surgeries later, and a good year of recovery (plus, don’t forget, a brand new baby who was always hungry therefore I was always exhausted), I was finally able to start working out again. However, the weight came off extremely slowly and I remained exhausted. I finally ended up at another freakin’ doctor, who did a battery of tests. Turns out I had Hashimoto’s (a thyroid immune disorder) and high sugars — borderline Type 2 diabetes. (Pregnancy thing, my ass). Meds for both helped immensely and the weight FINALLY came off. I met with a nutritionist who discussed how much sugar is in everything. I had to become food racist — nothing white.

 

And it worked! At one point last year, I weighed only 118 — too thin for me, and my hair started falling out.

 

I couldn’t have been happier. Sigh. (Devil Wears Prada, Emily: I’m just one stomach flu away from my goal weight.’)

 

Stupid bodies.

 

Back to the doc, she determined I didn’t need to be on the Glucophage (for Type 2 diabetes) anymore — that if you take it when your body doesn’t need it, your hair falls out and you get too thin. Is there such a thing? I joked with her. I wasn’t anorexic, after all. Just thin. Finally, finally thin.

 

So, off the diabetes med, but on the thyroid med for life. Fine, I get that. Whatever.

 

Fast forward to now: I’ve gained back some of the weight due to the stresses of moving, writing three books in two years (fourth and fifth in process now), economic worries, stalkers, and my beloved Nutella, which is now banned from the house. *cries* My neck and shoulder are in constant pain — again. Though I’m walking every day and playing with the kids at the park, it’s not enough. So tomorrow I’m fasting and doing blood tests — again. I’m back to eating no sugar (except in my coffee — come on!) and it sucks. If I could eat anything I wanted all the time, it would be any kind of asian food and Nutella. Okay, and gum balls. (Don’t judge me.) All are off the table, so to speak.

 

We joined the local gym last week. My goal isn’t outrageous: lose ten or twenty pounds. I’ll feel better about myself. I’ll feel better physically. It’s simple. Regardless of societal pressure or fashion magazines, I don’t feel healthy right now and that’s inside me.

 

The point of this saga is two-fold:

 

In explaining to my girl what healthy eating is all about (as well as being active), I realize I am her role-model and it’s my responsibility to be healthy and live long. I want to see my kids graduate from college, build a life. To me, it’s not so much the number on the scale as it is having the physical ability to exercise that I’m grateful for. There are so many people in my family, and in this world, who don’t exercise due to physical incapacities and I can. I’m thankful for that each day.

 

Second, it’s not about who I see when I look in the mirror. If I look in the mirror or weigh myself and say, “I’m so fat,’ what message does that send to her? I’ve taught her to love her body as I love mine, despite all the difficulties. If I only exercise to lose weight, I’d quickly lose motivation (and believe me, I’ve done it and that alone is not fun or inspiring). It’s about overall health. I don’t smoke anymore, I joke about martinis but maybe have three a month, and I’ve sworn off sugar. Again. Perhaps I’ll end up back on the diabetes med — maybe that’s why the weight gain. We shall see.

 

It doesn’t really matter. Of course, it’s good to know if my sugars are high because of heart issues in my family, and diabetes is a contributor to heart disease. So yes, I want to know. But will it change anything I’m already doing (besides taking a med)? Nope. Maybe I’ll joke more about Nutella, but I won’t be eating it. And I guess it’s time to remove ‘Nutella advocate’ from my Twitter bio. (See what I put here).

 

Let the Columbia students have it all. They’ve got finals to study for.

 

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