I sent these pictures to my husband a couple of weeks ago.
Looking at the first picture, I was thinking, “I look freaking good.” My shorts were pulled up way over my mom pooch, or the “baby apron.” I also buy specific underwear that I can pull up over it to hold it all in. Like, what?! I have to buy a certain type of undies so that I am able to pull them up high enough without completely suffocating my crotch. BUT, you could still see “ab” outlines. Lies. I don’t have abs anymore. They left me 7 years ago. Actually, almost 8. That’s when Nick started feeding me Mcdonald’s and Taco Bell ALL THE TIME. Hallelujah for high waisted pants.
Then, I took the second. I pulled down the shorts. And I said, “Just kidding. Freaking mom pooch. It will never go away.” 6 years later. Here it is.
I felt discouraged. I worked SO HARD in the last year to finally lose the baby weight that two beautiful boys brought me. That belly will never go away. I lost 25 pounds. I currently weigh less than when I got pregnant with my first son. Yet! I still have the mom pooch, and saggy boobs, and a not-as-plump bottom.
And then you know what I thought: WHO FREAKING CARES?
I have this zig-zag scar under my belly because the first person to cut in screwed it all up. I have stretch marks on my legs, my hips, my belly, my boobs, MY CROTCH. But who cares? I have skin that hangs over said scar and I have to buy a certain type of underwear to conceal it. But you know what? WHO CARES?
So what if I specifically buy high-waisted, suck-me-in leggings? So what if I buy a push-up bra? SO WHAT if I wear said leggings to dinner so I can eat the dessert? At least I can enjoy the dessert.
This belly housed two children for nine months each. This belly nourished and made healthy baby boys. These stretch marks – okay, those stretch marks are because I ate too much pizza (baby number 1) and ate waaaaaaaay too many bagels w/ cream cheese and brownies (baby number 2). But hey, baby wanted what baby wanted. And then tired momma wanted what tired momma wanted. It is what it is.
The saggy boobs – those attempted to feed two children. Failed, but tried. And I am proud that I tried.
I worked damn hard to lose the weight. But if I hadn’t lost the weight, I would still be a valuable human. This body created two beautiful, funny, sweet, perfect boys. This body still does takes care of those sweeties. This body IS AMAZING.
I missed three days of workouts this week. And you know what? I HAVE NO REGRETS. Instead of working out (or eating clean for that matter), I went and had lunch with my family, I played Mario Kart with my son, I let my youngest brush my hair for an hour (his request). I ate half the jar of Milky Ways at my sister’s house because I love Milky Ways. I have been working hard on my thoughts and my mind. I have also been trying to live more and enjoy life.
Most of what you see online isn’t real life. High waisted leggings are AMAZING. They do wonders. Seriously. I just ate half my kid’s mac-n-cheese, and two bowls of turkey chili with ALL THE TOPPINGS. Even Nick said, you look pregnant. (Don’t worry I showed him my belly sticking out from it and laughed that I looked pregnant.) I put some leggings on. BOOM. Belly gone. I could fool anyone.
Don’t believe all the posed pictures you see on Instagram. Some people do bounce back super fast. Some don’t. Some take three years like I did. Some take 30 years. Some never do, and that’s okay too.
This is a reminder to all the new mommas or the mommas with 25-year-olds who still haven’t lost the baby weight. Are your kids happy? Are your kids loved? Okay. So your extra fluff just doesn’t matter. You did what you were supposed to do. YOU ARE WORTHY. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. You created life. You should celebrate that.
Nobody is looking at how many inches you have added or what your pant size is to value your worth or how good of a mother you are. They’re looking at how happy your children are, how happy YOU ARE.
Life is about living. Not about some stupid number on a scale. Speaking of scale – I have had a “low battery” on mine for a month now. And you know what? I don’t want to replace it. I don’t want to know if I’ve gained or lost weight. It doesn’t matter. What matters is how I feel. A number on a scale DOES NOT DEFINE ME. And it doesn’t define you either.