It took me 3 pregnancies and many years to accept my body as a mother. I was a size 6 before my babies and was not prepared to be a size 12 after I had my first son. My self-esteem was trampled. I was used to wearing what I wanted and getting a fair amount of attention from the opposite sex. Now, I felt like a sideshow. I was sure that people would whisper and stare. I wouldn’t go out in public without my son because I wanted everyone to know I looked like this because I had just had a baby. Umm dramatic, much? Obviously size 12 is not freak show status, but to a girl who was entrenched in the superficial LA lifestyle—it.was.devastating. I had watched my belly grow for 9 months, and expected to see it disappear once the baby who was in there inflating it had come out to meet us. All of you moms out there, stop laughing.
I was too young(22) to realize that society didn’t know everything. That the billboards all over Beverly Hills don’t depict real life. That success is not measured by a scale. And that relationships with people who judge you on your looks aren’t worth the trouble. So I lost the weight, fast. I spent mealtimes nitpicking and naptimes doing cardio.
After a year and a half of dedication, I was rockin my pre-baby jeans. But don’t you know as soon as I zipped those Sevens up—I was pregnant again. I went through a similar scenario after baby number two. I had slightly more realistic expectations, but just as much determination to be ‘skinny’ again. I hit my goal weight after my second, and then, that’s right—pregnant again.
It wasn’t until my third pregnancy that I realized how silly the whole thing was. Why was I killing myself to fit into jeans that were now almost 10 years old? Why did it matter if some random guy in the store thought I was hot or not? So what if my girlfriends are 2 sizes bigger or smaller than me? I am me. I have incredible people all around me who love me just like this. I can buy new clothes, that are in season even. I have a husband that loves how I look. And more importantly, I like how I look {when I don’t have jeans 2 sizes too small distorting my shape}. I like the little pouch on my tummy. It reminds me of carrying my boys in there. I like the curve of my hip where Avery lays his head when we cuddle. There are so many little changes that motherhood has brought to my body that I actually like. They won’t help me get on any magazine covers, but they do carry memories that make me smile.
After that image shattering realization, I have stopped beating myself up for experiencing life. I have had 3 kids. Does that mean I am destined to have love handles for the rest of my life? No, but it does mean that weight loss will take a while. There are priorities that take precedent. Up until a few weeks ago I was nursing. And if you’ve ever been a nursing mom, you know that it = almost every diet on the planet being off limits or ‘modified’ for you. So do I watch what I eat and exercise? Yes, yes. Do I still have about 15-20 pounds that I want to lose? Umm, yeah. But I’m okay with where I am and the journey ahead. And I now know that losing 20 pounds isn’t going to magically make life perfect, or even much better. I will have a different wardrobe. But I will still have the same responsibilities, the same thoughts and ideas, and the same fabulous family and friends. Believe it or not, you don’t have to look like Kim Kardashian to be happy. Who knew?
