post baby body to be edited

The last time my girlfriends and I got together, we sat around talking (whining, with lots of wine) about our post-baby bodies. “This never used to jiggle, and these never used to sag, and those stretch marks were never here before, and where did these go, and will I ever be able to squeeze this into a size 6 again? And why are my feet still a whole size bigger two years after my last child?” I feel like a deflated balloon … in clown shoes.

Has your child ever pointed to your stretch marks and asked “what happened?” or grabbed your post-baby fat roll like it’s a handle used to be used get your undivided (and horrified) attention? Have you ever spent years doing sit-ups only to learn that that final layer of pudge covering anything resembling your long lost abs will NEVER go away, no matter what you do? Or maybe you have racked up thousands of miles jogging, chasing the memory of a smaller waist line, only to realize that your child-bearing hips will forever be “curvier” now? How many times have you tried on your skinniest skinny jeans from many years and a few children ago, only to prove to yourself, once again, that your thighs will NEVER be the same.

Sometimes I think that my children have kidnapped my 25-year-old body and are holding it for ransom. But what more could they possibly want from me? I have given them everything I’ve got, and then some: my heart, my undying and unconditional love, my patience, my sanity, my personal space, every fiber of my being. I just want my body back. They can have the rest of me, forever.

One would think that waiting on, I mean, caring for, four kids every waking moment of my life, without a moment to sit down and rarely a moment to eat, would melt the pounds away. And it only seems fair that my selfless acts of preparing delicious treats for my family, while torturously denying myself the indulgence would earn me my old thighs back.

I realize that parenthood is all about sacrifice. And I’m cool with that. I don’t really miss my social life, my alone time, my personal space, adult conversations, peace and quiet, going to the bathroom alone, hearing myself think, sitting down during meals, sitting down … ever, eating a hot meal, having enough room in my own bed, hearing someone call me anything other than mommy. Okay, I miss all of this. But I thrive on the dream of one day reclaiming all of these things … someday … a long, long time from now, when I have to re-fill my empty nest. But I have not yet come to grips with the fact that I will NEVER have my pre-baby body back.

I fear I may never stop yearning for her. Those pre-baby jeans will forever sit in my closet on my “maybe some day” shelf. And I will continue to confront and negotiate with my scale every day, hoping for a more comforting and recognizable number. After all, “You look great” just isn’t quite as flattering when followed by “for having four kids.”

Part of me is proud of my pregnancy/childbirth blemishes. Part of me wants nothing more than to embrace all of the changes in my body (since they are here to stay and all.) Part of me wishes to read my scars as road map of the journey I took while growing these children inside of me and enduring pains straight from the deepest depths hell just to finally meet them. And while a part of me knows I should cherish my newest imperfections as badges of maternal love, and hail my post-baby body as a sacred temple of motherhood, there is another part of me that would be happy having only the searing memory of the worst, most unforgettable pain and gut wrenching agony of natural childbirth to mark that beautiful journey.

I just want my body back.

How do you feel about your post-baby body? Go ahead, let it out! It will burn a few calories.