Body Image

Much has happened over the last few weeks that I have kept from you...inadvertantly, of course. I haven't had much time to write and I've missed it very much. It keeps me sane. Yes, I'm insinuating that I'm going mad. I meant to. Maybe I am.

Motherhood is lovely. Surreal. I still can't believe that I'm in charge of this tiny, beautiful baby boy. Sometimes when I'm staring at him, watching his every facial expression change, I think to myself how I barely knew what love was until he came into our lives. My definition seems to have changed and altered my whole world!

The remnants of my pregnancy are leaving me feeling a different way, though. That's what I want to talk about today--body image.

Mine sucks. It always has, really. I don't know where this comes from. I just know that I'm rarely happy with the way I look. In fifth grade, I began to notice that when I sat down in a chair, the fat (or skin) on my legs would flail out so I started sitting down with just my tippy toes touching the ground. That way, no one would know how huge I really was. This is absolutely ridiculous, especially because I was a really skinny kid.

In 7th and 8th grade, I dreaded changing in the locker rooms for my basketball games and then later changing again into my cheerleading uniform for the guys game. I would change in the shower most times because I didn't want anyone to see my love handles that were actually nonexistent. I was probably 85 lbs soaking wet.

These self-conscious feelings never left me and when I arrived in college, much of my research began to be focused around body image. I worked at a gym and tried to stay in shape, but for the most part, I was rarely happy with what I saw in the mirror. After meeting Captain J, I cut myself some slack, I think. He made me feel good about myself and in turn, I wanted to be healthy, to look healthy for him.

I knew getting pregnant would disrupt that. I knew I would stress about gaining too much weight, stretch marks, not being able to workout, et cetera. I felt pretty good during the last nine months, though. It wasn't until after I had Baby K and looked down to still see a woman who appeared to be about 5 or 6 months preggo that I began to worry again.

My stomach goes down a little every day. And I didn't expect to be a size four again over night.

But, it's just...

I'm frustrated! I'm frustrated mostly because I actually was feeling pretty good about myself until I went to the hospital the other day. Two people asked me when I was due. Seriously? Context clues people...I was carrying a diaper bag!

I ended up gaining 31 lbs. I've already lost 19 last I checked. It's nice to see the number going down again. But I still feel pretty gross in all my old clothes and the end isn't really in sight. My doctor has put me on bed rest- as in don't get out of bed, don't have visitors, and don't you dare exercise orders. I was hoping to at least be able to take walks again. Releasing endorphins is another thing that keeps me sane.

But I can't do any of that. I feel trapped in this bed.

All I want is to be able to feel good about myself again, but that seems so far away because I'm forbidden to work out. I know this all may seem very petty, shallow even to you. It's how I'm feeling, though. I'm just so thankful that I have the sweetest, most beautiful baby I've ever laid eyes on to show for it.

He makes it all worth it.

And somehow I escaped pregnancy number one with no stretch marks. Miracle! I do love that cocoa butter.

Anyway, I'm just writing this down to vent. I know there's someone out there reading who deals with similar issues. I could place blame on the media, but I won't. I'll take responsibility for my false beliefs about my body and do something to try to change them. The last thing I want to do is teach my child(ren) poor body image.