“They” say a lot of things about breastfeeding. “Breast is best,” and “You won’t get your period as long as you breastfeed!” I’ll be honest, the one that made me the happiest was, “You’ll lose so much weight breastfeeding!”
See, I’ve had this thing since I was young. It’s not a very nice thing. But it’s a thing that has made me obsess about my body, specifically my weight. This is a thing that has sent me to the hospital. A thing that has turned me to skin and bones, and at other times a blimp. A thing that, after years of therapy, still creeps into the back of my mind and whispers terrible things in my ear. A thing that I’ll never conquer, and can barely control. A thing that made me hate myself and how I look. A thing that can make me cry or rage when I look in a mirror or see a picture of myself. This thing? Eating disorders. Anorexia and Bulimia and Body Dysmorphic Disorder, all wrapped up together in a Monster I seem to have caged most of the time, but manages to escape on occasion. My own mental bully that has grown up with me from age 10, when my thyroid (unbeknownst to myself or my doctors) stopped working like it was supposed to. I’ve been “overweight” most of my life, “obese” according to the BMI charts, which I try to tell myself is bull shit because my mom says I have an “athletic build” and I don’t look good at what they consider a “healthy weight.” Sheesh, that’s a lot of quotation marks. Last summer, I finally figured out everything that was wrong with me. I found an exercise routine that worked, ate healthy, cut out gluten, and finally got on the right thyroid medication. In just over a month, I dropped 25 lbs, and was only 25 lbs away from my goal weight. I would have kept going, but I found out that I was pregnant with Bean. Pregnancy has been the only time I have been truly happy with my body. I managed to continue eating healthy for the most part, and it didn’t bother me to gain the 35 or so lbs I did. I did not keep a vigorous exercise routine, but Bear and I took walks all the time. I loved watching my baby bump grow in the mirror. I was grateful that I didn’t seem to gain much anywhere else. I didn’t always feel great, but I felt great about my body. I would have walked around without a shirt on at all times, if it were socially acceptable. I did miss exercising like I used to, though. I was looking forward to Bean being born and getting back into it a few weeks later, as soon as I had the go-ahead from my midwife. I imagined hitting it hard with Jillian Michael’s while Bean watched from his swing or bouncer. I wanted to be at my previous goal weight by Christmas of this year, and I just knew between breastfeeding and exercising, I’d get there. So much for that. I’m currently 4 ½ months postpartum and I still can’t even walk for too long. And I’m not talking fast-paced, supercharged power walking. I’m talking about an evening stroll through town like Bear and I used to do while I was pregnant. It hurts too much to walk for long, much less even thinking about real exercise. I can’t even do yoga for more than a few minutes. I look in the mirror and all I can see is that c-section shelf, something that I will probably always have, a flab of skin to hang over the top of my mom jeans (jk, I’ll NEVER wear mom jeans…). And the numbers on the scale, they haven’t gone down since a week after Bean’s birth. The pain, the physical pain, is still excruciating some days. Some days, it’s all I can do to cart Bean around. Chunker. It’s also frustrating. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. It’s another thing that didn’t go according to plan. And the physical pain is a constant reminder, something that I carry with my constantly, making it feel like nothing went right. It translates into emotional pain, which is excruciating, too. So, on top of the postpartum anxiety and PTSD that I am working through, the Monster comes back. Taunts me. Makes me obsessed with the numbers on the scale. Makes me justify when Bean doesn’t want to be put down so that I don’t have to make something for myself to eat. Makes me angry when I look in the mirror. Makes me avoid having my picture taken (we still don’t have a real family picture). I know I can’t live like this. I can’t keep stepping on the scale multiple times a day. I can’t keep skipping meals. I cannot obsess about my now-matronly body. And I need your help. I’m sharing this to make myself accountable to you, my reader. I’m putting away the scale. I am making an effort to plan my meals and have healthy snacks available for myself. I will tell myself, out loud, affirmations any time I look in the mirror. I will do my best to live a healthy lifestyle without obsessing about my weight or shape. This is hard. This is very, very hard. But I know that I am not the only one out there who feels like this. If you feel the same in any way, I would like to invite you to join me. Let’s take this journey together, to learn to love our bodies, stretch marks and scars and all.
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I have been asked by several people why I have not yet shared photos of Bean on Facebook/this blog/other social media. I have several reasons, and would like to share them with you. In this day and age, we are inundated with pictures and 140 character blurbs about our family, friends, and acquaintances' every thought, action, and meal. As shallow as it may sound, I do NOT care to see the wedding photos, ultrasound pics, or baby videos of every person I've ever met. Aside from the dramatically vague status updates and pictures of food, I feel like these things are highly private, meant to be shared with the people who love you and care most about you in celebration of these things. Not to say I'm not happy for each and every person in these great life events, but when 20 people from my college freshman classes (which took place 7 years ago) all post sonograms back-to-back, they all begin to look the same. Especially if the most communication we've had since our study group has been liking each other's posts. For me, the over-sharing of my life seems to devalue and depersonalize these events. Not everyone feels that way, and that is fine. Through text, email, and even snail mail, I am able to share pictures with those closest to my family. Mailing or personally handing prints to people of importance was how our parents and grandparents shared school and Christmas pictures, and that method works just fine for me. However, I am grateful for the ability to save on the stamps! Additionally, the Internet never forgets. And, unfortunately, there are unsavory characters out there who enjoy stealing pictures for their own use. In various mother's groups I am a part of, moms have shared horror stories of anyone from complete strangers to vindictive exes to well-meaning family members stealing pictures off of social media sites and sharing them as their own. How easy is it for someone to see a Facebook account with hundreds of pictures, videos, and anecdotal status updates about a child, and know the child without KNOWING the child? And if their intentions are not honorable, how easy would it be to use that information to find and do bad things to the child? I'm probably being way overly protective here (hey, first time mom, I get a little slack here, right?), but I'd rather be cautious and safe than have something bad happen to my son because I shared a little too much. My third and biggest reason is my son's autonomy. He is his own person and I want to respect him as such. In several years, when he is able to understand that his picture can be shared with a few or a lot, I will ask him which he wants. If he wants them posted to Facebook, I will then happily share. If not, they will remain private family treasures. Don't worry, I'm saving all of his naked baby pictures to show his first girlfriend :P I decided immediately after Bean's birth that I would not be a "milestone checker". You know, one of those moms obsessed with their child reaching specific milestones by a certain age? I refuse to look at baby books. I don't remember the day his umbilical cord fell off or the first time I cut his nails. I do, however, remember the first time he slept for 4 hours straight instead of his normal 2 hours, because that was 3 weeks ago and I woke up with boobs as hard as rocks! As a type A personality, it's actually been a relief to me to not have milestones to stress over. Instead, I take in my son as he takes in the world! He is such a bright, alert little man, and I try to enjoy him as much as I can in these sometimes-long-but-always-quickly-passing days. The two things that have thrilled me the most in the past few weeks are: his discovery of his smile and laugh, and his discovery of his hands. His first laugh was at our two-week post-partum visit with our midwife. We were discussing how he planned such a grand entrance at 40 weeks and 4 days - despite his mama's pleas that he get here just a leeeeettle sooner - and as confirmation that he did, indeed, plan it, he smiled and gave a giggle. Since then, I have waited with bated breath until he started doing this voluntarily. This started happening just a few weeks ago! Now I'm becoming a morning person again, because he is genuinely happy to see me and I get to bask in the glow of that gummy grin! His nursing takes longer than normal, too, because he keeps popping off just to grin at me before he resumes his eating. *heartmelts* His giggle is contagious, and when I laugh, he laughs, which is the best thing ever! In the past couple weeks, another amazing thing has happened. His hands, and what he can with them, fascinate Bean. He will sit in Bear’s lap or mine and examine them for minutes. He has finally figured out how to get his thumb in his mouth, but still needs both hands to hold it in there. Best of all, he has started reaching for things! For a while, he has "talked" to the mobile toys hanging above him in his swing and bouncy seat, but he is just now actually reaching for them and trying to grab them! Bear says that, this weekend at my sister's wedding, Bean reached for him while my dad held Bean! My friend told me that for the first few months after babies are born, they are potatoes. Eating, crying, sleeping, peeing, pooping potatoes. Cute potatoes, but still potatoes because they don't really do anything. And while we are not keeping to any particular milestone guideline, I'm so proud (and a little sad) to say that my Bean is a potato no more! Less than a year ago, I moved to Eastern Kentucky to be with my family. I have been overwhelmingly blessed with so many great friends; Kimberly, her husband Joe, and their son Gage are no exception. A few weeks ago, I was able to document a bit of Kimberly and Gage's breastfeeding journey. I was so excited when they asked me to capture another special moment: the Gender Reveal of #2! Kimberly's mom got the balloons and we all met at the local park. Lots of smiles, laughs, and a few tears quickly followed! Super (big) Bro Gage loved the box! Grandma gave him a flower... Aaaaaaand he decided to eat it! These two... <3333 staaaaahp! Super Bro enjoying the park! Congratulations again, my friends <3 I can't wait to meet baby Samuel!
Bear and I were discussing our desire to homeschool, when suddenly he asked me, "What do you hope to teach our son?" I replied, "Well, math, science, history, English... Ya know, the whole 9." "No, no, no... What do you want to teach him? Instill in him?" Oh man. Intense. There are so many things I want to teach him. They all came rushing at me and stopped on my tongue, trapped in a 20-car pile up behind my lips. Since my pregnancy, I've lost all ability to articulate. "Uh, to be a good person?" But Bean, my son, there is so much more... I hope to teach you truth and honesty. And I hope to teach you how to share these things in love, not harshness. I hope to teach you that it is okay to be angry, to be frustrated, and to share those feelings, constructively and with a confidant. I hope to teach you how to deal with those feelings, so that you do not become wrapped up in them. I hope to teach you the value of communication: to say what you mean and mean what you say. To think about your reply before giving it, and to judge whether or not your opinion is truly needed in a situation (sometimes it will be, most of the time it will not). There is power in words I do not think we will ever be able to fully comprehend. I hope that you will be a man of your word, that you only make promises you keep (not just intend to keep). I hope to teach you that no means no. And not just when your daddy or I say it, but when you say it, too. (Terrible twos may or may not fall under this one... We'll see <3). I hope to teach you how to enjoy life. To smile and laugh as often as possible. I hope to show you how to eat AND enjoy a healthy diet. That veggies aren't poisonous, but too much fast food is. I hope to teach you the value of proper hygiene. First impressions are big, though they aren't everything. I want you to feel like you can always put your best foot forward. Plus, it doesn't hurt to smell good. ;) I hope I teach you confidence, to be true to who you are and to fully believe in yourself. To stand your ground for what you believe in. I also hope to teach you to be respectful of other people's beliefs. Just because they are not your own does not mean they are less. Be open-minded and open-hearted. Be knowledgeable of the other side. I want you to not be afraid of being wrong. I also want you to not be afraid to change your mind. I do not want you to be wishy-washy, but I do want you to be well-informed and make positive decisions based on the best information. I hope to instill in you curiosity, wonder, and a thirst for knowledge. I hope that these virtues stay with you for life, and that you never feel the need to "outgrow" them. I hope you will be as much in awe of all God's creation as an adult as you are as a child. I hope that you remain child-like, and not childish, and that you know the difference. I hope to teach you to be a man. Not the kind that feels he must domineer over others to feel worth, but the kind who finds his worth in God and helping others find their worth. I hope that you see every person as an equal, none better or worse than any other, regardless of gender, race, age, creed, sexuality, or life path. I hope to show you that you are unique, and that this makes you special. And that your uniqueness should be used for the benefit of others, and not to make yourself feel better than anyone else. I hope to teach you the value if having good friends and being a good friend. I hope that you learn to be grateful and generous with what you have, materially and otherwise, and to not be envious of what you don't. I hope to teach you the value of a dollar, and the value of putting in your time and effort towards earning your money. To work hard for what you want, and be proud of your accomplishments. I hope to instill in you great money management skills. To prioritize responsibility before pleasure, and to understand the benefit of a good savings account. I hope that you understand that money isn't everything, that family and friends give you more than money ever can. I hope to teach you "everything in moderation." This would include, but not be limited to, time, money, work, play, and food. I hope you learn to be giving of your time and resources, but that you do not allow yourself to be taken advantage of. Guard your heart, but do not let it grow hard or build to strong a wall around it. Most of all, I hope that you learn to love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself. August was National Breastfeeding Month. Those that are close to me know that breastfeeding is very important to me, and I'm blessed to be a part of a community that holds it in a high respect, and is also very supportive in helping mamas new to breastfeeding. One of those ladies is a very dear friend of mine, Kimberly. She has been breastfeeding her son Gage, now 17 months, and is a huge inspiration to me. She confided in me that this special relationship is starting to come to a close, so I suggested a photo shoot to commemorate their journey. Joe came along for the ride, so we were able to get a few family shots, too! It's been years since I've had the chance to really get behind the camera like this, so it was extra-special for everyone. Photography is one of my biggest passions, and I had to put it down for quite a while to finish school, deal with some major life changes, and my own pregnancy and birth of my son. I'm so excited to be jumping back into the game with my camera! Now, without further adieu, the photos! High-flying baby! Thank you guys, again, for allowing me to capture such special moments. I love you all, and I can't wait for our next very special shoot! :D
<3 Preface: I understand that these comments are well-meant and designed to bring comfort. I hear the heart of the speaker. And I am thankful for their love and caring. This post is meant to inform, not to make anyone feel bad for anything they may or may not have said.
My cloth diaper journey began when I was just a baby. My mother tells me that I was terribly allergic to disposable diapers and had awful rashes until she switched to cloth. Of course, back then, it was still the giant square folded and held together with a big pin. |
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AuthorMama Bear of one Baby Bear, Bean, who both love Papa Bear, and live in a crafty, gluten-free cozy den. Archives
June 2017
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