On Weights and Measures

As with all things, pregnancy came with its ups and downs for me.  Primarily (surprisingly, at least to me) positive things.  I never got sick, I felt fantastic, and I spent most of my pregnancy fascinated, no, enthralled, with my ever changing body.  I took good care of myself, I did yoga and spin classes, and I ate ice cream almost every single night.  Never in my entire life have I ever felt so good about myself at a time when I would have expected to feel pretty dejected. 

The aftermath of the pregnancy, though, has been difficult.  My body changed in ways that I didn’t predict, and in my mad pursuit of breastfeeding success, I gained ten pounds while on maternity leave while gobbling down “lactation cookies” (the lactation consultant said to eat four a day, but I figured ten a day would help my milk out more).  I never did produce a lot of milk, but I sure ate a lot of those cookies.

Fast forward to today, and I’m still carrying some of the extra baby weight.  I’ve tried to whittle it off with dieting, with some limited success, but it’s slow going and frustrating. 

Then, a few days ago, as I stood in front of the mirror, fretting about my stomach and my butt and my thighs, as I weighed myself for the hundredth time, only to be disappointed, it hit me as to how unhealthy I was behaving, and what a bad example I am setting for Lily.  Why can’t I be more forgiving of my body, say “thank you” to it for carrying my beautiful, healthy child, and cut myself some slack?  What if, this little voice whispered to me, you just ate when you were hungry and were active for the joy of it and let the rest of it go?  What if you stopped trying to squeeze into pre-baby pants that might never really fit right again anyways because, hey, your hips changed shape when you had the baby and you might lose plenty of weight and they’ll still fit funny.  What if you set an example for Lily to accept herself for who she is?  How different might her life be if she doesn’t spend half her time talking about her diet, her weight, pointing out all her supposed “flaws” and obsessing over a number on the scale?  Because as I sit and whisper mean things to myself in the mirror, I can’t help but think how horrified I would be if Lily were to say those same things to herself.  And I realize that the only way to avoid teaching her how to do this is to quit doing it myself.

Because, really, aren't we both worth it?