I'm not new to dieting, weight loss, or trying to create a healthy lifestyle. I have decades of experience, not that that experience has translated to much success. 

I am new to grief. At least, to this level of grief. I've lost grandparents, aunts and uncles, and even a really close friend in high school. But losing a child is something completely different. 

My husband and I showed up at the hospital December 12th with our bags packed for our scheduled c-section to deliver our second son. I brought newborn clothes and nursing tank tops. We had a baby toy ready for big brother to give to his little brother. My sister had just given birth to her son two weeks earlier, and I was so excited for the cousins to meet and start to grow up together.

We went back to be prepped for surgery. I changed into the hospital gown, answered all the standard questions, and they hooked me up to start monitoring my son's heart. That was the beginning of our new hell, my current normal.

There was no heartbeat. My son was dead inside me. I had the c-section and we got to meet our 7lb 1oz angel. 

Fast forward to today. It's been nearly two months. It took about 5 weeks to physically recover from the surgery, and I'm still learning to trust my body in physical activity. I'm cleared to exercise and I'm desperate to not look pregnant anymore. When you have a baby, you usually leave the hospital looking about 5 months pregnant, but you're carrying a baby, so everyone knows why you look that way. When you leave carrying a teddy bear, you don't have an easy excuse. And I don't want to tell everyone I meet why I look the way I do. So despite being in the worst emotional pain of my life, I have embarked on a new weight loss journey. 

I'm tracking my food intake on MyFitnessPal, my activity with a FitBit, and competing in DietBets here. I am doing Pilates twice a week at a local studio. I wear a post-surgery girdle to look less pregnant. 

It's hard to feel motivated to do anything, much less workout and eat healthy. If curling up in bed and crying burnt mad calories, I would be a swimsuit model already, but alas. Counting calories and tracking steps gives me something I can control, which grounds me after having the rug pulled out from under me. I couldn't control losing my son. All of the doctors and nurses reassured me that I didn't do anything or not do anything that caused him to die. But I can do something about my health and my appearance.