On vanity and expectations

My goal for pregnancy was to remain fit and healthy. I knocked it out of the park for the first 5-6 months: I ran, a lot; I lost my sweet tooth; I craved raw vegetables and Cheerios. Then winter hit, my running slowed to walking, and I rediscovered my love of baking and Nutella. Suddenly, my low weight gain was not so low. In the scheme of things, it wasn't too bad - I gained 31 pounds during my pregnancy. More than I'd hoped; I had wanted to gain 20-25 pounds because I started off the pregnancy carrying an extra 15 pounds. But I consoled myself with the fact that it could have been far more, and really, the Nutella cheesecake alone was worth an extra 6 pounds.

Two days following Charlotte's birth, I was incredibly distraught to realize that I'd only lost 6 pounds. Seriously. I gave birth to a 6 lb 9 oz baby, and no longer had a placenta, and still I was only 6 pounds down? Apparently someone had slightly unrealistic expectations. That same someone did NOT anticipate post-partum edema that was worse than anything dealt with pre-partum. Dear god, everything about me was swollen. My face! My knees! My calves! My ankles and feet (a given)! Why was I not warned about this? As a result, I loathe pretty much every single photo taken of me during Charlotte's first two weeks of life. I know. I'm ridiculous. I'm working on it.

Fast forward three and a half weeks. I'm down about 17-18 pounds, and the joy that is being a mom has helped me come to grips with that. In my mind, I was going to be able to lose at least 20 pounds during the first month, leaving me with not too huge a number to tackle. Close, but no cigar. Ultimately, I feel pretty good about myself. I imagine many women, and probably most mothers, struggle with body image issues. Funnily enough, I feel better about my body now, carrying 25-30 pounds more than I'd like, than I did when I was only carrying 10-20 pounds more than I'd have liked. I feel like, darn it, I have ACCOMPLISHED something with this body. I have EARNED this floppy belly and wider hips. And, let's face it, I'm totally providing nourishment for a sentient being. That alone has got to be worth a few extra inches.

What is helping me is, I have gotten out of my sweatpants and into jeans. I put on blush (it's true, Mom. I even wear it to the grocery store!). I walk briskly with a baby and dog in tow.  Today I even wore my running tights, whose high spandex content helps to contain a certain amount of jiggle when I wiggle. And I take advantage of the fantastic stroller my family gave me at a shower:

Don't worry, it's perfectly safe for a newborn to be in this particular jogger.

This week, so far, we have logged about 12 miles. Gus is really digging our mid-day walks, and since he's not on a leash, he's probably logged about 15-18 miles. He is snoring on his bed right now, and it's only 3:15. I'm about to join him, floppy belly and all.