I love my post partum body

I found myself scouring the internet late into the night desperately looking for some article talking about the pains of losing baby weight. At four months post partum, I had considerably plateaued with losing any more of the extra pounds I put on while getting ready to welcome baby #2.

I had big plans for myself this time round. After my first kid, I got back into dancing highland competitively (which is Scottish, for those who don’t know. Less Riverdance, more bagpipes and kilts) and got back into teaching a cardio class at Goodlife as soon as physically possible. I was so sure going into it all that I would bounce back to my old self in no time. In fact, I welcomed the challenge of losing the weight.

How adorably naïve was I?

Some women shed weight like mad while breastfeeding. Unfortunately for me, my body operated more similarly to a bear preparing to hibernate for the winter and kept every possible pound on while I was making that milk. And when I finally stopped and was ready to slim and trim again, I lost a measly five pounds. And that was it. I chalked it up to not shocking my system enough and pledged to myself (or more particular, to my butt) that after baby #2 I would bite the bullet and get a personal trainer. And so, once I got the go ahead from my doctor that I could do some squats without my uterus falling out, I marched into the gym, VISA at the ready and hired me a trainer!

I won’t lie to you; this girl kicks my ass. For the first time in my life I can do tricep push ups on my toes, I can lift far more than I ever thought possible and finally feel like I have gained back the strength I lost. I even managed to compete and place at a competition and ran a 10k race all within one week. I was getting more toned with each passing session, and until I looked in the mirror, I felt pretty fantastic. But then I’d see it. I see the bump. The permanent bump that now lies where a once flat stomach stood. The forever baby bump that makes it look as though I had forty seven tacos. Even with all the sit ups, the planking and the straight up core focused exercises, I still look like I recently had a baby.

But here’s the thing. I did. I did recently just have a baby. As I type this, my six month old is asleep in the other room, happily snoring away (until 2 AM, cause……let’s be honest). Why on earth am I bashing myself for looking as though I had a baby when that is exactly what happened? Who set these ridiculous, unachievable goals?

I did.

I decided to put this pressure on myself; I was the one who whispered how terrible I look. Even when someone complimented me on how I looked I immediately reminded myself that I technically hadn’t lost any weight and shouldn’t take any stock in the compliment. I had allowed myself to lose sight of the crazy thing I had accomplished. I made a person. FROM SCRATCH.

It dawned on me as I hopelessly searched for some blog post to make me feel better about looking the way I do that this post might not exist. Why is that? There are millions of articles about how to lose the weight via ridiculous diets or various methods of thirty second workouts in the morning. Why are there no articles about women just telling it how it is. There is no way I am the only person in the world who can’t lose the weight right away, diet and weight training be damned! Is it because we’re too afraid to admit that we don’t measure up to the unspoken criteria for women post partum? When did this shift happen inside my head? When did my thoughts go from doing everything humanely possible to have a healthy baby to how quickly can I erase the physical evidence of my pregnancy?

I’d rather be strong than skinny.

I quickly adopted a mantra. I wake up in the morning and remind myself that I’d rather be strong than skinny. Looking back I think I told myself this in part to make myself feel better about the weight I would inevitably not lose very quickly. But as time goes on, I’ve realized that I’ve been viewing the word strong in the wrong light. It takes strength to have kids. I don’t even mean physically having one. Raising a kid is hard. Raising several kids is hard. It takes a deep strength that you don’t realize you have until your baby poops all over your pants the minute UPS is at your door to deliver something. Or the moment you swing your feet over the bed to get up and console your kid in the dead of the night. It is a never ending role that you profoundly love and hate all at the same time. It takes every ounce of everything you have. Being a parent requires great, great strength.

I won’t say that there won’t be days where I won’t secretly wish for my old body back. And I won’t stay that I won’t continue to step on the scale and try to negotiate my weight as though my scale can understand me. I will however remind myself that this body did something phenomenal. It is much stronger physically and emotionally than I ever thought possible. And whether it’s six months, ten months or two years post partum, I am going to cut myself a break. On those days where I feel like no progress is being made, I will remember that my body is strong.