Weight Loss Ambiguity

More To Love with a pic of a volluptuous white woman

I don’t feel proud to be losing weight.

Probably because I didn’t  feel ashamed to gain it in the first place.

When I started this blogg, I named myself Bigmama2x, and that’s still my email address, but–like my clothing– the name no longer fits.

Over the past year I have lost 43 pounds. If I lose eight more pounds, I will be down to my full-term pregnancy weight. That may sound ridiculous, unless you know that I lost 50lb. During my last pregnancy–weight that I gained back immediately afterwards.

If I go down one more shirt size I’ll be the same size I was in High School! Only with much bigger titts!

So why aren’t I all proud of losing all of this weight? I don’t feel like I’m doing anything to cause it. I’m not a binge eater fighting cravings. I’m not on a diet. All that I’ve done is take a few more walks and tried to make good eating choices.

I’ve never felt that my weight was something I had direct control over: when I was a lazy teenager who got little exercise and ate poorly, I weighed 140 lb. (I’m 5’8″)
When I was a malnourished, extremely active homeless girl, I weighed 140 lb.
When I had my first baby my weight went up to 200.
After he was born it went all the way up to 250.
I had just lost a little when I got pregnant again, and my weight plunged back down to 200–that’s including fetus & water weight. I felt like I was starving the whole time!
But I went right back up there!

My weight’s fluctuated mildly since then, but I’ve never lost weight at such a pace. My body feels strange: my hips & thighs and ass feel tight, although of course my stomach is still bigger than I’d like.

Still, I don’t feel proud of losing weight. Everyone tried to make me feel bad for being “overweight” or “obese” but I refused.
I refused to buy into the guilt and shame that society tried to feed me.

I realized that I preferred my lovers thick–so why shouldn’t they like me that way too?

Don’t get me wrong–I’m glad that I’m losing weight–the death of my Beloved of a heart attack at 35 woke me up to the dangers of poor diet, low exercise and bad food choices, but I’m not proud either.

Because if I was to be proud of losing weight–that would mean that before I was ashamed!

Nice Ass For a White Girl

I often I get asked: “Are you sure you’re not mixed? Cause you have a nice ass!”

It’s not a jaw dropping, spot-it-across-the room booty, but it’s damn nice for a white girl. It’s especially nice since I’ve been loosing weight. (Due to daily walks and weekly dancing, none of that dieting crap for me.) That’s right y’all, Big Mama 2x is now more of a Big Mama size 16.  I think all that shakin’ it is paying off!

Somewhere there’s a black girl with a bee-sting booty cursing god for giving me her ass.

Probably one of my ex’s come to think of it.

Just havin’ fun don’t take it serious.

I Saw Red–at Target

I ran into Target yesterday to get the final item for my Stud costume (See previous post)–a sports bra.

After going through the bra section and not finding any, I headed over to “Active Wear.”  Combing through the sports bras I was disappointed to see that the largest size I could find was 38D.

“I guess I’m too big to be considered active?” I quipped out loud. (I’m a 40D)

“No!” a pretty, slender redhead nearby reassured me.

But Target thinks I am.

(I haven’t been so mad since I went to JC Penny and could not find one matching suit my size in the slovenly plus size section–which was right across from a pristine array of at least  40 “miss” sized women’s suits. It’s only my pure civic-mindedness that prevented me from following my instinct and burning the place down–but believe me, I saw flames all the way to the door!)

Double Standard for Double D’s

The commercial Fox and ABC did not want you to see. Go to Lyne Bryant’s Blog for more info.

Really friggin hot!

Thoughts on Weight and Health

I just learned that my Beloved died–not of hitting his head during a seizure, as I feared–but of a heart attack. At 35.

Now, it is a fact that at 6’4, and weighing at least 400 lb, some people would say that it was not a surprise he had a heart attack. Maybe even that he somehow deserved it.  It is true that he did not eat well, or exercise often enough. It is also true that he had a major health defect besides the seizures. His body was not processing fluids properly, so that much of his weight was actually water, which pooled up around his ankles, making them look like elephant legs. When I realized this, I looked up the disorder: my research showed that either his liver or kidneys were not functioning properly. This condition could lead to–yes–heart failure. I tried to get him to be proactive about seeking help, but he said the doctors told him it was just because he didn’t exercise enough. This didn’t sound right to me. Lots of people are fat without extra water in their bodies. I started to look up herbal cures, but then found out about his epilepsy. Afraid to suggest a treatment that might be contra-indicated–I backed off.

I wish now that I had pushed him to find a doctor or Naturopath who would look beyond his weight. Yes, I’m sure that it was a factor, but he had an untreated medical condition.

I guess we always want to fix the people we love. I used to fantasize about moving in with him and getting him to go on bike rides with me–and I don’t even go on bike rides myself! I would teach him the art of healthy food. I would soak his legs in mullein and lobelia, and give him tinctures for his organs. We would sweat at least thirty lbs off in extra curricular activity… I loved his body just as it was–just wanted it healthier.

I loved his size!  A strangely pleasing side affect of his disorder was that his kisses had a delicious moistness to them. I called him my tall drink of water, because I felt I would never need to drink again if I could only keep kissing him…(he thought this was silly, as the phrase is intended to refer to a skinny person.)

It’s scary. My life is not all that much more active than his. He was so busy playing music, drawing, chatting with me online, watching movies, spending time with friends…he wasn’t proactive about his health even as his body sent him clear signs that he needed to change. Many of his friends worried about him. I worried about him. He hated doctors–hated hospitals. He couldn’t get health insurance, so he had no regular doctor. He hated doctors. He hated being lectured about his weight.

People think that shaming someone will make the change. Like, if you just make them feel bad enough they will change. In truth it’s just the opposite. The more you try to make someone feel like they have to do something, and that they are wrong for not doing it, the less receptive they will be.

Now I feel like I have to make a change. My beloved has shown me that I need to get proactive: get up off the couch, go to the gym, work out at home, get my own long untreated physical issues taken care of, something!

A Trip to the Doctor

So I finally went and met my Doctor: a petite woman who looks like she couldn’t gain weight if she tried. I tried to talk to her about the pain in my neck that upsets my sleep and makes me wake up with both arms asleap, but there was only one thing that she wanted to talk about: my weight.

Doctor: “How long have you struggled with your weight?”

Me: “Well, I used to be 140 lb, but I gained a lot of weight when I got pregnant, and I’ve been plus sized ever since. I actually lost 30 lb on my second pregnancy, only to gain it back post partum. All of the women in my family are skinny until they have children, then they have simillar builds to mine.”

Doctor: “But how long have you been struggling with your weight?”

Me: “Um…since never. I’m ok with my body.”

Doctor, sputtering: “but…but…but”