Part II: A vanity affair

If you missed part I the link is here. There was a time I believed I wasn't particularly vain. Having a baby shattered that myth. It turns out I am. Truly. Madly. Sadly. Vain. I wrote this when Miss I was eight months old and I was grappling with my post-baby-body.

In May last year my body reached the pinnacle of its physical abilities and delivered a rather beautiful bundle of baby girl. Throughout my pregnancy I marvelled at my swollen tummy, the most obvious sign of the tiny life I could barely believe was growing inside me. For me, pregnancy and childbirth defy belief. I understand the science of it and I know it's how all of us got here. Even still. It blows my mind.

If it weren't for the unforgettable thirty-six hours immediately preceding her arrival, I might not have believed it was even possible for a little person to emerge from this body. But she did. Having accomplished that miraculous feat, I remember thinking my body was truly special. It facilitated this fabulous arrival and took on hero status in my mind. At least it did for a while.

Eight months' later, I dread catching a glimpse of that body in the mirror. The very same body I developed (and owe!) an inordinate amount of respect and admiration for, now makes me cringe. I'm ashamed to say that. But it's true. My tummy sags, my clothes don't fit and my chest could rival Jordan's. I hate getting dressed.

Part of me is above these preoccupations but that part only ever appears in quiet moments of reflection. In the heat of the moment - when I'm madly getting dressed for something or trying to buy clothes to avoid moments of such madness – my rational mind is nowhere to be found. Instead I become consumed with self-indulgent thoughts about the extra flesh I'm carrying. How terrible and unfamiliar everything looks. How enormous I feel. It's not a happy place.

When I step away from the mirror and head out the door I can digest what's happened. I can see I'm not being rational. I'm not overweight. I'm five kilos heavier than I was when I fell pregnant but I'm still a healthy weight. I go to the gym three times a week, I walk every day and I eat sensibly. I just can't lose weight.

In moments of clarity I accept this is my new normal. I am healthy. I have a husband who loves me regardless of my shape. I have a beautiful little girl who also loves me regardless of shape and has thrived from my body. I know those things matter so much more than my weight. My weight is not a problem. At least, I know it shouldn't be. And, yet, it is. I care that my body doesn't look how it used to and I care that my clothes don't fit. And, especially, I care that I care.

No matter how much sensible internal dialogue I attempt, when I stand in front of the mirror, my vanity inevitably prevails. It doesn't matter how many times I marvel at the beautiful little person this body grew, delivered and continues to nourish, I still find it in myself to begrudge my body its extra weight. This is how I learned the depths of my vanity. It seems to run much deeper than any wisdom or insight I've acquired. And that disappoints me more than any extra flesh.

Reading that now - more than a year on - I'm still disappointed I let those few kilos weigh so heavily. Even more so because when I stopped breastfeeding my body returned to its old size (ish) of its own accord. Rather than being overjoyed* I'm sad I was so ungracious.

I wasn't gentle or patient with my body during its time of upheaval. I was demanding and rude. At the time it needed kindness and gratitude more than ever. As indulgent as this sounds, I suspect anyone who has experienced a body alteration will agree that not recognising the skin you're in, is tough. Whether it's from childbirth, illness, medication or anything else. Frivolous or not, the way we feel about the way we look matters.

For me, it was another stepping stone to negotiate along the motherhood road. I can't go back and change how I felt after having my darling girl but if, and when, I'm lucky enough to have another little baby, I will try to be more accepting.
Has your body ever changed? If you've had a baby did you find it hard to adjust?

*This did cause Mr G some confusion. Conversations like this were common.
Him: "You haven't worn that for ages."
Me: "Yeah it fits me again now".
Him: "That's exciting!"
Me: "No, actually it's not."
Him: [Puzzled look] "We spent a year commiserating that your clothes that didn't fit and now they do so can't we jump for joy?"
Me: "No. We can't. That would be positive reinforcement for bad behaviour. It shouldn't have mattered that my clothes didn't fit."
Him: "Wow. Living with you is fun!"