I’m seven months post-pregnancy and I’ve stopped measuring the distance between here and there. That gap between the button and button hole that represents several pants sizes ago, a closet full of shirts that are suddenly too short, a shelf stacked with skinny jeans and morning after morning of longing gazes at said skinny shelf.
I used to be skinny (this is just two months pre-preggers with Baby #2):
Okay, maybe everyone looks skinny next to a giant nutcracker. So here’s more proof. Notice I am wearing the same no-way-jose-am-I-getting-back-into-those-jeans-again jeans—with room to spare.
I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. I’m working out (I even joined a boot camp class, and I don’t do classes). I’m eating right. Apples, brown rice, lean meat, and I’ve even joined the Kashi bandwagon. And still I’m a full fifteen (okay, seventeen, grr) pounds heavier.
For four months I fought it, wearing the same stretchy jeans and maternity khakis every, single, day. And then I finally caved and bought a few pair of pants that fit. And some strategically “flowy” shirts. Thank god for the flowy trend.
Now I’m wearing what amounts to maternity tops and having to decide whether to wear the jeans below the fat roll or tuck the fat roll in (this picture doesn’t do the fat roll justice since I inadvertently did the model torso-twist pose, but you get the idea):
It wouldn't be so bad if I were equally, er, heavy on top. But it turns out when you eat right and exercise the fat melts away alright – from all the best places first. So now I look like a pole with two tires wrapped around my waist and thighs like a tutu. A blubber tutu.
I wish I could be more rational and level-headed and say something grounded like I’m okay with the new me. I wish I were sane and accepting like my blog-friend Andrea. But in all honesty I haven’t accepted it just yet. I'm working on it. So for now I’ll continue eating right and working out, for my health as much as anything. And maybe someday I’ll get to revisit the skinny shelf. Please God let me get to shop the skinny shelf again.
This post was inspired by the Nesting Place’s Imperfectly Beautiful challenge. Here’s the imperfect part (even sucking in a little, notice the belt loops twisting under the pressure; somewhere under there is a little waist screaming to be free):
And here's the beautiful part:
p.s. you are so lucky I spared you the pics of my lumpy thighs and stretch marks…instead how about some more beautiful?