It’s Time to Talk about Baby Weight

This picture is dear to my heart. It’s my last moment with Emerson as only a mama to her. Minutes later, Doug picked me up and we jammed to the hospital where we’d soon welcome little Hadley. Here I am telling my firstborn daughter how much I love her. How she’ll always be the one and only baby who made me a mama. How things were about to change, in a REALLY big way, but that she didn’t have to worry because there would just be more love and more fun and more family filling our home. I am telling her she’s going to be the best big sister in the whole wide world, and that she’ll soon meet her best friend for life. I’m so happy my mom managed to sneak this photo.

But you know what I hate? I hate that earlier that morning, I hopped on the scale and cried. Nope, I’m not joking; like literal tears. I mentioned in my last post that this pregnancy plagued me with extreme water retention, and my months of nausea and carb cravings certainly didn’t help slow the weight gain. Another donut? Why not! Mac and cheese? YES! Pass me that last bagel, please! I wasn’t exactly consuming veggies and water. Stuck in survival mode, I kept eating and growing and blowing up until the morning I gave birth, when I cracked 180, meaning I had gained 55 pounds.

To some, that weight gain might sound horrendous, and to others, might not seem that bad. Pregnancy weight is a personal thing and tends to vary like crazy. For me, let’s just say it seems unthinkable and I’m still having vivid nightmares. Toward the end, I was literally gaining five pounds per week sometimes. Even my doctor said, “Wow, you must be so frustrated!” Yes, sweet doctor, I was. My arms. My feet. This butt! Even my nose was pregnant.

I see all kinds of mommy articles floating around the web, with strong, confident women claiming, “I’m Taking Back the Beach with My Stretch Marks!” or, “Why I’m So Proud of My Mom Tummy,” or, “I Refuse to Hide My Post-Partum Body This Summer.” To have such a mindset! I’m envious. You can spot me cowering under an umbrella donning a circus tent.

And once again, I feel disappointed in myself for caring so much, after desperately wanting another baby with all of my heart. How can I be so shallow after God gave me just what I wanted, right?! Well, unfortunately, I’m a woman living in Orange County who happens to have a complicated relationship with her body (who doesn’t?! seriously though, if you don’t, take me to coffee and tell me your ways) and I’m here to shout from the rooftops that gaining tons of baby weight STINKS.

Last time around, I gained 45 pounds, and I lost it within five months. Lots of people who didn’t see me for a while assumed it just dropped right off. Some would ask, “Wow! That came off so fast! It must’ve been easy to lose, huh?”

They were just being nice, but riiiiiiiiiiiiight. Easy?! Are you kidding me? NO! I gained FORTY-FIVE freaking POUNDS! To lose it, I worked out four times a week without compromise and stuck religiously to a healthy diet plan. It was one of THE hardest things I have done and only God helped me through it. Unless you’re an otherworldly goddess in which case I love to hate you, there is no scenario where losing that much weight is a cinch. (However, I do swear by Weight Watchers’ program for breastfeeding women. Truly. God’s gift. There’s an iPhone app and everything; check it out.)

All I can surmise is that this process, this poundage, this ultimate sacrifice of a mother’s body and sense of self: It was all part of God’s design. He knew that we mamas of newborns would be hit with it all at once: The sleepless nights, the screams of colic, the weeks without sex or exercise, the isolation, the hormones, the basic hygiene becoming a luxury, the awkwardness of making new mom friends, the quiet horror as we examine the residual damage on our bellies and thighs. Pain in childbearing? Nope, it doesn’t stop in the hospital.

But all that said, you know what else I surmise? That God thinks we’re pretty amazing. Dealing with a new baby AND walking around in a flabby flesh suit? Basically, we are Superwomen. He trusted us with all the pains of childbearing because He knew we could do it—let’s be honest, men couldn’t—and He wants to keep on sharpening us for the rest of our days.

I’m definitely not sharing this from a place of triumph, of overcoming, a lesson learned. My dealing with this issue is pretty mid-storm and vulnerable. I haven’t learned to love my post-partum body. I’m not crazy about my huge thighs, umpteen dress size or unwelcome cellulite. I know intellectually that my baby battle wounds are the most beautiful things—but practically, in this age, in our culture, in my very own tainted mindset, it’s hard to believe that’s true. Yet, believing it is my priority, especially with a hyper-aware two-year-old daughter whose big blue eyes are glued on me in my every waking movement and mood.

So, to my fellow mommies who have recently sacrificed their bodies to the little miracles calling us Mom; and to those who will do it someday; and to those did it a really long time ago who still have the scars; and even to those who never have done it and never will do it but still seem to struggle to love themselves. These are the things I’m praying through and working hard to believe in my second journey of shedding the baby weight:

• My identity is not in my body. It’s just not. In reality, my body is not even me. Our bodies are nothing more than a temporary casing for our souls. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take great care of them and stay healthy, but the minute we put our whole worth in them, we are treading tenuous territory.
• The people who love me don’t love me for my body. Last week, I was taking a “before” picture of myself in a bathing suit so I can compare later, which I think is a fun way to keep motivated and track weight loss progress (you’re welcome for sparing you). Right as I was snapping the photo, Emerson came up, grabbed onto my leg and said, “I love you SO much, Mommy!” If that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what does.
• Beauty and awesome-bod status are fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord, she will be praised. Proverbs 31:30, with my personal edits. Any morsel of youth or beauty embodied by anyone is merely a passing experience. Kim Kardashian isn’t the most quotable woman in the world, but I like this, which she said about her first pregnancy: “I’d think God was doing this for a reason. He was saying: ‘Kim, you think you’re so hot, but look what I can do to you.’ […] I got so huge and it felt like someone had taken over my body.” Who are we to take pride in any of our physical qualities? Even Kim K. gets pregnant and fat; even Kim K. will grow old. A woman who fears the Lord: She will be praised.
• I will miss out by obsessing over my weight. I’m embarrassed to say that just the other day, I told Doug: “I don’t really feel like seeing people in social settings right now. I’m so overweight and self-conscious, uncomfortable in my own skin. Part of me just wants to wait until I feel great about myself.” After a pause, he said: “I totally understand that. But if you wait until you’re feeling great about yourself, you’re going to miss out on life. I think you just need to show up, and trust that people will love you, just the way that you are.” That Douglas. Always dropping the wisdom.
• My daughters are watching me. Okay, one is really really little, but still. Moms have the chance to set the tone for their daughters’ lifelong body image and self-esteem. If I can’t accept my present body for what it is, the vessel that his given me the most beautiful blessings in all of my life, what kind of message does that subtly or not so subtly communicate to them? That they ruined me? That they were not worth the cost? That bodies are meant to be “perfect” so they better grow up to be so, whatever “perfection” even means? My two princesses give me major accountability.

I suppose it’s a small baby step that I don’t hate that picture of me and Emerson—I just hate the morning before it when I hated myself. In fact, I love it, and I even think my significant curves are looking kind of awesome.

My favorite thing about the photo, though, is the way my daughter is looking at me: Pure adoration and awe, at my heaviest weight of all times.

I also like to think that’s the way God looks at me every day, in every moment, no matter what my physical body is doing or what it is looking like. That He just loves me, seeing straight to my innermost being, and wants to know me and be with me and hear my voice as I tell Him things. That He thinks I’m amazing and strong—enough to handle being a mom.

After all, He knit me together in my own mother’s womb.

And what a beautiful realization is that.