Saturday, November 23, 2013

Did superwoman wear sweatpants?

Ok, I have to admit it.. On paper (kind of), in print for everyone to see.

I am a little depressed. Not postpartum depressed. I am post C-section depressed.

After my last c-section I feel like I bounced back so much quicker. In reality, as I read back in my older posts (see Hips don't lie, 8/10/10) that isn't the case, but I feel like I felt more 'ok' with myself after having Isabel.

I realize it's only been just shy of five weeks, but something is amiss here. I feel squishy-er, lumpy-er, old-er. I feel like last time  I took so much pride in the fact that I was pregnant,  had a baby, and had these breasts that fed my baby. It was all so amazing, so meaningful. The stretch marks and the lack of being able to fit into my former wardrobe as quickly as I wanted took third row seating to the fact that I was a new parent wading through the new tide that had come in. The saggy-ness of my belly didn't bother me as much, and the thought of the '6 week- you can have sex  and exercise again' appointment made me excited, not terrified of someone seeing my post-baby body.

For some reason, this time has lost it's beauty and sense of wonder,. Maybe because I've been here before. I know this path. Wait out the 6 weeks, heal my body, set up a steady supply of milk for your child, feed on demand. All of this, and  now continue to move with the rest of your life.

 Baby came, you had three days in the hospital to heal enough to go home, now carry on.

Perhaps the reason I feel the way I do is because I'm unsure that I  gave myself enough time to let my mind catch up with my body about having had another child.

I was so quickly back to business as usual that I wonder if my mind has completely wrapped itself around the fact that the wound in my belly, the engorgement of my breasts, the spit up on my shirt, the bags under my eyes are all due to the tiny miracle I often carry on my chest.

 I once wrote that the scars, the stretch marks and the spit up are all badges of honor-- Not to be taken lightly. I have to stop stressing about what I am wearing, and accept that it's OK to wear sweatshirts and put my hair up sometimes (ok, all the time lately, as I have no desire to wear anything else unless I am going somewhere that sweat might be construed as sloppy/inappropriate).

I can still be  an amazing, well put together mom in comfy clothes. Does it really matter if I am well dressed driving my kid in the car back and forth to preschool and then sitting around my  house with a kid latched onto me most time? Does anyone REALLY care if I am wearing black yoga pants and a sweatshirt or tights and a trendy dress? Nope. Just me.

So with each quiet moment, I am going to try to remind myself once again that these stretch marks are going to fade. 6 weeks will come, and it will be OK once again for me to work out and stress about my jeans size.
 But for now, I will  give myself time to enjoy each cuddle with my new girl. I will not stress about my belly jiggling too much, or that my thighs don't have a proper gap. I will eat to nourish myself enough to nourish my baby. I will get back into a workout routine slowly, and not curse myself for missing a day because the girls were in need of extra snuggle time and by the time they were satisfied/asleep I was just too damn worn from the day to bother.
For now, I will wear sweatpants.

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