I just want to start by warning anyone that is going to read this, that I will have some photos of my postpartum belly in this post. I completely understand that some may not want to see them, and that's okay. This blog is mainly for me, a chance to get my feelings out in writing. I have never promised it wouldn't be messy, emotionally or otherwise.
Almost four years ago, I wrote a blog post about how I was feeling about living in the skin I was in. If you'd like to read it, here's the link:
The Journey, Not the Destination. This post is essentially an update on that post, a little about what I have learned, and a little about what I haven't.
As most of you know, a couple of months ago I had my first child, a son my husband Geoff and I named Noah. He's the sweetest little boy. He has a very calm disposition, he's curious about the world, and he loves to observe it. All this not to say it hasn't been challenging. Though he's only three months old, he's already teething which of course is a whole new ballpark.
Well, being a mommy to Noah has changed me. It has not only changed me physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Being a mother has changed me. I'm learning afresh who I am. My identity is constantly evolving and shaping itself. For a long time, I was afraid of being a mother. I was carrying around old wounds and deep hurts that made me not want to open myself up to having children. God used a situation with some doctors - where they told me that I couldn't have children - to make me realize how much I took it for granted that if I changed my mind, I would just be able to have them. I am so glad He did.
I never would have imagined the outcome, though. I have realized that I had no idea how easy some parts of mothering are. How instinctive it is to want to the best for Noah, and to check on him when he cries. To cuddle him and love on him in any way that I can. I also had no idea how very challenging it can be. How frustrated I can get with myself. How I can still function on three hours of sleep. And then the biggest lesson I'm learning, about my physical shell. How I am still caught up in appearances. How it matters so much to me what I look like. How easily I have forgotten that God calls me His.
And there's this balance... this fence I am constantly walking. Knowing I am God's, and that I am beautiful in His sight, and knowing that the state I am in is not healthy. The balance between, "you have stretch marks, you're a warrior, they're beautiful", and "those are so ugly, why on earth would you show them to the world?". The struggle of not looking perfect and knowing that's okay, but also knowing that to be healthy, to treat my body like the temple it's supposed to be, is the right thing to do. The struggle of trying to get healthier, but to not overdo my recovery. The struggle of patience. The realities of my maternity clothes being too big, and my regular clothes not fitting correctly because I have this belly in the way still- protruding from having not healed yet, and from too much accumulated fat.
Last night I finally was able to get on a pair of pre-pregnancy pajama pants comfortably. It sounds like a small thing, and yet to me, it's a victory. It made me realize, though, just how much I am still stuck in the mud. How much I still care. How much that caring is equally good, and bad. How it's so drilled into us that we have to look a certain way and buy certain clothing or wear certain makeup or get a tan or don't be too skinny or too fat or too strong or too weak or too...you. How to not be unique. How to be a mommy- but don't look like a mom. How to be cool and hip as you wheel your stroller in the grocery store or the mall or for a walk. How to have it all together.
My reality is that I'm a mess. I'm stuck wearing maternity clothes and nursing clothes and feeling uncomfortable. Having my hair up all the time (even though down, before baby, was my preference) in a messy bun (and when I say messy bun I don't mean the hip kind). Barely wearing makeup anymore, sometimes wearing my contacts. Knowing how much stuff I can sling into the diaper bag and exactly how many things I can carry before I get tired, but then not knowing how much I can do without overdoing it and hitting a wall of exhaustion constantly. Being covered in baby barf and drool and possibly poop are normal past times for me now.
I've also learned my perspectives of me are so skewed, so crazy, so wrong. On our honeymoon I remember thinking that I had too much fat on my body. I weighed 90lbs less than I do now. I had the tiniest little rolls. My perspective was way off, and extremely unhealthy. It still is. Here's my postpartum baby belly in all it's glory. I kind of like to think it looks like I got mauled by a tiger.
Here's the thing. Somehow I was expecting that after birth things would go back to normal, at least normal for my belly. But normal never carried a child. My belly is currently around the size it was when I was about four months pregnant. Here's some belly pictures from when Noah was in my tummy.
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| 20 Weeks |
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| 27 Weeks |
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| 31 Weeks |
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| 36 Weeks |
I honestly don't know why I thought things would go back to "normal". And you know what- that's okay. Because normal was still wrong- at least mentally. My perspective was still skewed- still is skewed. I'm trying to get it straight. That's why I wrote this post. To let whoever is reading this, and to remind myself- I'm still a work in progress. It's okay to not be sure. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to be figuring out who I am. It is okay to love the stage I'm in- to love my belly- because it gave me Noah. And it is also okay to recognize this is not the place I want to stay.
I guess all I really want to say is...love yourself. Wherever you're at. Join me in my journey.
