New body, new me
I’ve always liked my body. I didn’t mind rocking a size 10 and always felt pretty comfortable in my skin. With the exception of some serious ice cream parties during my pregnancy, I think I did a pretty good job of eating healthy. It didn’t really matter. I gained weight all the same.
I don’t know exactly what I thought would happen. I suppose I figured that magical weight loss fairies would blow their fairy dust over me and I’d become a size 10 again. When that didn’t happen instantly, I told myself that by 6 weeks postpartum, my uterus would be back to its normal size and so would I. My extra weight was clearly the fault of my fat uterus.
Of course the truth of the matter was that I had gained weight. Ciaran was here and he was healthy. My uterus was back to its normal size. But I was still heavier than I had been before. Also, I had stretch marks zig-zagging their way across my stomach and legs. And I had used the stupid cream that claimed it would prevent such atrocities, but they came anyhow.
I tried to fit myself into my pre-pregnancy jeans. I got them on, but they make me look slutty. I went out and bought size 12 pants, but I kept having to hike them up when I walked. I was a size 11 in a world without size 11 clothing. Life sucked.
Oddly enough, I think the worst thing about it was that everyone kept telling me how great I looked. I know they were being nice, but I didn’t FEEL great. I felt chunky and rammed into my clothing. I felt awkward in my own skin.
And then I got over it.
I’m a Mom. I have a beautiful baby boy who smiles every time he sees me. My body might not be the Hollywood version of perfect, but it’s mine.
Postpartum Kate 