The other day I felt pretty. You know when you hair curls and frizzes in just the right way, your new shirt from Banana Republic looks just right and the world can’t stop you? Like that.
I saw myself in a photo the other day and noticed I looked a little thinner than usual. I stepped on a scale to confirm my suspicions, 27 pounds lighter than my weight pre-baby. No, I don’t mean, 27 pounds lost from pregnancy. I mean, in addition to the pregnancy weight. I have no room to brag about this weight loss since sitting on the couch or in front of a computer stuffing my face with snacks all day does not constitute bragging. But feeling good about myself does.
I was prepared for having a baby to wreck havoc on my body. I was ready to accept the mom body as a nice excuse for the extra pounds I had put on working at Starbucks. I ate and drank 1,000-calorie beverages and pastries without abandon and became the heaviest I’ve ever been.
Then I got pregnant and lost my mind about my body issues. I cried and cried because I couldn’t find clothes (specifically bras, I mean my god, they didn’t sell my size in the maternity stores!). I thought life would never be right again. And then my body did something miraculous. It made a baby and went back to normal. Just like that.
I’ve never been more proud of it. Even in those post-partum days when my belly was reminiscent of a deflated balloon, I loved every inch of my body. It produced life and continued to nurture it.
I can attribute my weight loss to a great many things (not working at Starbucks, breastfeeding) but in my heart I’d like to think the self-acceptance and value I’ve placed on it gave it the legs to do what it needed to do.
So today, as I get all full of myself and think, “You look good!” I hope this body of mine hears its praise. A woman’s body is a wondrous thing. It is capable of the most miraculous task of all, human creation, and that alone deserves all the praise in the world.
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