A few months ago, I told a friend that I needed to gain a few pounds. It’s no secret to people who know me in real life that there have been times in the past few years when I’ve been a smidge on the overly skinny side. I do exercise, I eat healthfully, but after kids, dropping weight was a bit easier the previously. So, there were times along the way when I would see a picture of myself and think that maybe if I picked up three pounds or something, it would be alright.
Flash to the past few weeks/months when I’ve realized that my pants were getting a bit too snug and I was feeling like crap. Reluctantly, I went to the doctor thinking she’d tell me I was imagining things (That’s what my husband said). After some bloodwork she said, “Nope, something really is wrong with you.” My thyroid is underactive and so she’s prescribed something that will hopefully regulate it and stop the weight from coming on. Eight pounds in two months. More than I wanted, that’s for sure.
Of course, no one seems to be able to notice the pounds but me, but that’s enough, I guess. It’s a relief to know that there’s a reason for it, and I’m hoping the medication kicks in and wipes out all the symptoms (fatigue, weight gain, hair falling out, moodiness, sensitivity to cold) that have been making me feel like crap for the past few months. Glad I didn’t ignore what my body was telling me (though I wish I had listened to it eight pounds ago).