Body Image

I find it fascinating that I could weigh just about the same as before the pregnancy but look utterly different. I know vanity really has no place in the wonderfully grand scheme of things that my precious baby brings, but it would be a big lie to say I didn't cry the first time I looked at myself in the mirror (or the second...and third) after coming home from the hospital. My body hadn't changed much at all in the previous 20 years and I had grown to love it. Seeing what a wreck it turned into was very disorienting. Now five months and thirty pounds later, there are still days that I mourn my old self a little. But then I would touch my stomach and remember that my baby was there and feel thankful that I could nurse her with these new boobs. A few weeks ago I packed away old clothes that I knew I would never fit in again but not quite ready to part with. It was kind of therapeutic. It just made me realize that cloth sizes were pretty much like age: they only affected me if I allowed them to. I've been in size zero and I've been a twelve, and I can tell you that I worry just the same that a certain pair of pants would make my rear end look enormous. Good to know that at least there's THAT consistency in my life. That and a sweet and kind husband, who tells me everyday that I look beautiful even while wearing his t-shirt that is covered in breast milk and spit up. I know I'm lucky. Just need to get used to the old me in this new body. Work in progress...