If Only I Could Donate My Fat

The scale read 16 lbs 12oz, which was a weight gain for Sam of one pound and three ounces!  Woohoo for Sam!  We were happy to see that he gained weight, and the doctor was very pleased with it also.  Sam also measured a quarter inch growth in height.  I’m not too sure about that though.  I think that such a small difference could easily be caused by squirminess as the nurse was measuring.  (You can check out the last post Small Boys in a World that loves Tall Men to get our perspective on height, growth, and why we’re so happy to see our son Sam gain over a pound during the last six weeks.)

Dwelling on weight gain and scales, I can’t help but think about the plentiful bounty of extra pounds that I’d be more than happy to donate to Sam.  Or to some other child.  Or really to anyone.  Anyone at all.  Please, take my fat.

I was a skinny 105 lbs until about 23 years old.  I put on a few pounds and gained some lovely curves.  Those lovely curves turned into extra flab with a few more pounds.  I dropped some when I was 26.  That was the year Jack and I got married; I was a beautiful and curvy 123 lb bride.  I didn’t mean to let myself go after the wedding day.  Truthfully, I really hate that phrase.  But during our first year of marriage I put on another 12 lbs.  Then, due to a cross-country move, I fell into some depression brought on by missing my home and my husband (who had to stay behind for awhile).  The needle on the scale plunged back down to 125.  I can’t eat when I’m depressed.  Frankly I’d rather be fat and happy than skinny and depressed, but oh how I wish I could get to a state of happy and pleasantly curvy. 

Unfortunately I really started gaining rapidly once hubby and I were settled in our new home and I was happier and more content than I’d been in a long time.  My highest weight was 168, I think.  Remember, I’m only 5’3” so that is quite heavy.  The summer of ’09 I spent staying at my in-laws’ house back home.  They were gracious enough to let me stay while I helped care for my grandmother during her last weeks.  I started dropping weight again, this time was due not only to my grief but because I was walking everyday around their hilly neighborhood.  Now that I think about it though, I know I was walking partly to relieve some of the care-taking stress and sorrow, so I guess that was indirectly related to depression also.  Whatever the mix of reasons, I dropped twenty pounds that summer and was feeling a lot better about my body.  Two months later I got pregnant.  The nausea was so intense that I lost a few more pounds, and I looked great.  By “great” I mean skinny and sickly and exhausted and green with nausea.  But skinny!  Of course I went right back up to 168 with Sam squirming and kicking around inside me.  Now I’m at 148 lbs.  Like I said, fitting into a pair of sexy jeans would be a heck of a lot easier if I could donate my fat, and I’m perfectly willing to do so.  I’m not stingy and selfish about it.  I’d generously give of myself.

 I’m hoping Sam won’t need any of my donated fat.  Like I said, I was so happy to hear the nurse say “16 lbs, 12ozs.”  That was a few days ago though.  Now I’m worried about this new development.  Sam has always had a bottle right before going to bed.  In the past couple days, he’s outright refused it.  Not even a sip.  I don’t know if this is a problem or not.  I don’t want to have to breastfeed every night; I won’t be able to leave the house, go to work, or get my much-deserved nightly break.  I’ll have to see if he still sleeps through the night without waking for a midnight feeding.  I’ve heard that teething might be the cause.  He does have a fifth tooth poking through.  I’ve also heard that it’s a common phase to refuse the bottle.  And some of my friends had mentioned that their babies let them know when they had outgrown the need for a feeding immediately before bedtime.  I guess I’ll wait and see.

 Oh, and feel free to contact me to arrange for your delivery of donated fat.