Monday, August 13, 2012

(Will I Ever Be?) Bringing Sexy Back

Now that my daughter is four months old, I’m starting to have the urge to get back to my old self--not in terms of every day life, but beginning to add in those “extras” that made me feel complete before: the gym, getting a hair trim, nails done.

A few weeks back I went for a walk with a friend after a late dinner, and as we strolled along Newbury I couldn’t help but notice all those girls that seem so put together--hair curled, cute outfits, HEELS!  After I secretly hated them momentarily, I admitted to myself that I was trés jeal.  “That used to be me”, I thought, but would it ever be again?

A post-partum body is nothing to be desired.  Trust me, I love those photos you can “pin” to your virtual board, showcasing a stretch mark-scarred belly with the saying: “This is what beautiful looks like,” or something to that extent.  And I’m thrilled for others if they feel that way--I just happen not to be one of those people with those particular feelings about myself.  My poor boobs look like beach balls no one wants to play with--partially deflated, they certainly wouldn’t make it over the net, so beach volleyball is out.  The dark line from top of abdomen to pubic bone is still so present that it looks as though I had an emergency c-section to deliver a person of adult size.  My hair has just started to fall out so drastically that if I don’t vacuum the bathroom floor it could create a new bath mat, and a scar on my face remains from the terrible acne I had while pregnant.  In the last months of pregnancy, I walked around like the baby was simply going to drop out of my vagina.  She was so low that I carefully crossed streets at the pace of a snail, doing everything in my power to remind myself not to visually hold my crotch.  Four months later I continue to walk cautiously--my lower half still surprised by the event of a HUMAN BEING pushing through it.

Despite all of this being true, I would never trade a perfect body for the experience of giving birth to my daughter, nor the fact that she is here on this earth today.  I suppose it is learning the balance between putting your child first (and rightfully so), and giving yourself what you need as a parent to keep you going and feeling good.

In a short few months, keep a lookout for me on the street:  I’ll be the one in the push-up bra, spanks, and a wig, but boy will I look happy pushing that teeny tiny lady in the stroller (very, verrry slowly...)

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