The Skin I'm In

I came upon this article last night and was surprised by my immediate, emotional connection with these awesome, strong mamas. Part of it is that I’m at a heightened emotional awareness. Part is hormones: I acknowledge that some days I’m just sad. Not full-on depressed just… sad. Having a new baby is a little isolating, working from home helps as much as it doesn’t. I still cannot hear about a child in danger or being hurt without tearing up. Moments later, I’m on an emotional upswing. I have some very exciting work on the horizon and I am hopeful that this is a professional highlight of my life. This pregnancy and birth and child has been such a different experience and it’s all good stuff. But, I am still feeling all the feels. What I’m most surprised by, in this journey, is my relationship to my body.

Being a girl of a not diminutive nature, it’s been a rough road for this sturdy, curvy and soft flesh bucket I’m piloting around this planet. As puberty hit, I took social cues and poked at my “thunder thighs.” I knew as a girl I was supposed to put my body down. Even when I was in dance and working out like a fiend every day, I still thought I was too fat for my size. After I quit dance, one of the many fun experiences of discovering people who were supposed to help me were quick to discard me, I decided the best way to lose weight was simply to stop eating. I’d get faint – passed out a little a couple of times – still, I stayed strong and was pretty skinny for a little while. Although, my skinny was never lithe.

The twenties and the booze came. Weight went up and down - mostly up. The only time I had confidence in the way I looked was when I really buckled down and stopped eating and shed 10-15 pounds. When I met Matt, I embarked on really growing up and figuring out how to be better to myself, because this wonderful man believed in me. He talks often about how I helped him become who he wanted to be – an incredible strong man – wonderful father, superlative partner, devastatingly handsome gray fox. (I like to think I helped with that hair.) I don’t give him enough credit for helping me stop being so insecure. I could depend on him and know that he would be there when I woke up. To appreciate him, I had to let go of so much fear and embrace the possibility that everything really would be okay. I learned a lot about choosing my happiness and allowing the kindness I would afford strangers to bless myself. Sometimes.

Then, after some seriously fun months of trying, we got pregnant. I’ve written a million times over about how hard that time was, but what was also going on is a difficult shift in the way I viewed myself, my body and how I figured out what kind of mom I was.

Pregnancy felt like a long descent into my body making fun of me. The stretching, the weight, the complete and total loss of dignity. Part of this was a midwife experience that was the exact opposite of what I thought it would be. I was depending on a person in authority over my body who made me feel like an idiot, disposable and “Uh… you really need to not gain any more weight.” I didn’t know how to do that. I was growing a human!

After Vin arrived, his reflux was so painful, and he never slept and I was so certain that I was doing my best, but my best was wrong. Breastfeeding was excruciating. Months of being doused in spitup and crying along with my screaming baby, another mom finally suggested I take dairy out of my diet. (Katie, I will forever love you for that.) He improved immediately. This left me with the sickening knowledge that something I was doing, was making my baby sick. By the time he reached 9 months old, he bit me during a nightly feeding and I swear that little jerk laughed at me. That was it – we were done breastfeeding.

All along this, none of my clothes fit. At first, I started to shrink, but mostly things shifted. Being stuck at home, unemployed, terrified on a daily basis, I did what I could: I baked. The controlled environment and brownie payoff gave me momentary solace. As Vin grew up, I kept some of that weight and it took me literally years before I was okay with Matt seeing me in the buff.

Then we decided we were ready, steady enough to try for baby number two. First, I needed a new caregiver. After the birth experience with Vin, I was left without a doctor I trusted. I went to the same clinic that I brought Vinny to. (Where, it’s worth noting, the pediatrician who never even considered the dairy thing, even though I now know, it’s a fairly common problem that babies can’t handle milk from animals other than mom. Which, when you think about it, kind of makes evolutionary sense.)

So, I went to the only lady there who did the lady exams. And I told her that I’d like to get pregnant again. And she told me, it was unlikely to happen at the weight I was at. If I didn’t lose 20 lbs… well, my take away was, why bother? There I was, swathed in an industrial sized public school Kleenex, literally baring all and I was being told that I had failed my body, my hopes of a second child and likely my husband and current child, because I’m just too damn fat.

Here’s a hint for those who have never struggled with weight: I didn’t want carry these extra pounds. My body was holding onto them, though. I could eat the exact same thing as someone thin and our bodies react differently. We’re all different. The shame was suffocating. Hot tears burned behind my eyes as I judged this nurse practitioner's really stupid 80’s ankle boots. She was built like a linebacker – who was she to judge me?

So, I stuffed the shame down and tried to get knocked up on my own - - well, not on my own – you know what I mean. I didn’t have a doctor in my corner. And it didn't happen! At least not right away. I really could have used a medical professional in my corner, but I would not put myself in that position again.

And then, years after that experience, in a beautiful moment where my husband and I connected in a way that had seldom happened in years - it happened. I hadn’t lost the weight, I was still just me.

Although, I had gradually gotten more comfortable in this skin. I have had the pleasure of parenting Vincent, who has grown into this kid that I just love spending time with. He is so kind and clever and funny. This body, that housed him (even though he was upside down) fed him (even if it made him a little sick). We’d all done alright. And now I was going to get to do it again, but with an entirely different circumstance.

My pregnancy with C.C. was different – I felt sick all the time, but figured out how to manage it. I lived in sweatpants and allowed myself all the sleep. I just hoped that she would be healthy. I also found an amazing caregiver. She was outraged by my previous experiences and she really listened to my every concern and seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with me. (Which, I kinda miss her now that we’re not hanging out every week.)

By the very end of my pregnancy, that number on the scale was just a number. There were people in that clinic that seemed convinced that I was going to have gestational diabetes – but I knew my body had this covered. We got this. She’s fine. We’re all good.

After I birthed that baby, the weight just seemed to fall off. It was amazing! And the pediatrician at the hospital was into food. And she said, “why not just stay off dairy for a while and see if she can handle it?” And we talked about food as medicine – a whole body, whole baby approach. Food is medicine! Tasty, tasty medicine.

After baby’s first well-baby check up with the old ped I realized – I want that doctor again! We switched and she is just perfect for us. So, I’m off dairy – unless I’m eating for work and that’s a weird thing.

I had the opportunity to review some restaurants for the November issue of Minnesota Monthly (ON STANDS NOW!) And I had to eat the dishes as the chef intends them to be served. (And there was butter and cheese. It was glorious. Until the baby started thrashing in pain and I knew that I had basically poisoned her. Way to go, mom! Sigh. The pediatrician has her on a probiotic and it's helping as her system matures.)

But, I’m eating for health in a new way – all animal fats from happy (until one rough day) animals and vegetables like I’ve never experienced before. The weight is still falling off. I think I’m finally going to have a number on the scale closer to what it was before I had Vin.

But that’s not even what’s important. My stomach has shrunk up and now looks like the underside of a baleen whale and… I love it. It’s hilariously wrinkly and jiggly. Plus, something has shifted in my face. It’s not just the weight, but I look more like me than I have in years.

Perhaps it’s that I’m feeling more me. I was meant to be this sweet little girl’s mama. I’m free of the fear that I’ve been toting around for years – bad things happen and I know I will be okay. This body is an amazing thing. And it’s flawed. Things fall off, break down, puff up – my hair is still coming out in clumps and I’ve got an adorable bald spot, but whatever. My jeans fit - and they might not tomorrow and that isn't the end of the world or an indictment of me as a human.

I have more good stuff on the horizon. I think. I hope. In the meantime, I kinda want to throw off my clothes, cuddle my babies and get one of these pictures taken because in this moment: I am strong. I am a mother and no matter how we all get to where we are standing – we have all come a long way. Rock it. Own it. You are amazing. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.