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It is said a woman should only gain 25 to 35 pounds during pregnancy. When carrying my son, I gained at least 100 pounds. I say at least, because at some point, I stopped looking at the scale.

The day I knew I was expecting I started eating everything in sight. I devoured chocolate, potato chips, apple pie and ice cream. At first it was fun but by the end of my first trimester, I had packed on 40 pounds. In the last weeks of my pregnancy I remember thinking I would be doomed to a life of elastic pants and chaffed thighs forever.

After I delivered my son, I realized I could not carry around the weight anymore. So one day, I went into the bathroom, stripped down and took a long look at myself in the mirror. After I finished sobbing, I knew I had to spring into action. There were a few tricks that really worked for me.

The first step was to face what I had done to myself. I realized that ignoring the scale enabled me to continue on the weight gain express. I retrieved the scale from the deep recesses of the closet and every three days I would get on. Some days I would have rather had a root canal, but I got on anyway.

The second step was my diet. I began to experiment with lean proteins, whole grains, and vegetables. I searched websites for new and exciting ways to make dishes that were high in fiber and low in fat. Some of the best dished I cooked were ones I made up on my own. I found out that I enjoyed cooking and I was pretty good at it too.

The last step in my journey was the hardest one for me. It was that dreaded thing called exercise. I thought about joining a gym and realized that although I had seen progress by just modifying my diet, my thighs were still in no shape to be parading around in public places. So I dusted off my old treadmill and climbed on. I would walk on the treadmill in the morning and in the afternoon; I would put my son in his stroller and walk around the neighborhood. Someone had given me a carrier that allows you to wear your baby while leaving your hands free. I would put my son in the carrier, get on and crank up the incline. The entire time I walked, I could just stare at his angelic face. Before I knew it, I was walking uphill for over an hour. Soon, I started to incorporate other fun things like tennis and dancing.

In celebration of my one year anniversary of being a mom, I was able to fit into a pair of size six pants I had worn prior to my pregnancy. That day I sobbed again, but instead of crying out in horror, these were tears of joy. I had done what I thought was impossible and it felt great.

Learn more about this author, Karen Freihage.
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