Mason 365: Day 19

Badge-r Pride

To the untrained eye this may look like just an ordinary tank top but,

to the seasoned professional it may affectionately be referred to as

Su-per Tank!

Too bad the trained professional definitely isn't me.

I was so excited about buying this tank top at Target.

The name on the tag was Assets

(it's supposed to be like a cheapo Spanx.)

I bought it to wear in our family pictures this afternoon,

you know, to cover up my mass quanities

of four-babies-worth of

baby fat?

Unfortunately, my "assets" didn't change at all

and it kept rolling up over my baby fat stomach which,

among two or three other things at the photo session,

starting wearing on my nerves almost immediately.

Frankly, I was pretty disappointed.

I was really hoping for a miracle and instead,

I got a whole lotta nothin'.

But it could've been worse.

When you love to eat as much as I do

and you're breastfeeding

shedding the wee one weight can be a

very 

lengthy

process.

It's frustrating,

but it's worth it.

I once saw an interview with Nigel Barker,

one of the original photographers from

America's Next Top Model,

and his wife.

(I used to have time for that kind of thing

before I dove face-first into 

married single parenting.)

I can't remember exactly why,

but they were discussing the concept of beauty during and after pregnancy.

Nigel said that after the birth of their first child 

his wife was uncomfortable about the appearance of her stretch marks

but he told her he hoped they would never fade

because he thought they were beautiful.

I remember him referring to the stretch marks as a woman's

"badge of honor"

for having undergone the awesome ordeal of pregnancy and childbirth.

I never know how much to eat when I'm pregnant.

I was dieting right before I got pregnant with Mason.

Extreme dieting.

I went from eating all but nothing

to pretty much everything 

in under a week.

I still hadn't taken off as much as I wanted to

but I couldn't take a chance.

Even if I could get an exact count of the 

appropriate number of daily calories

a person my size should safely consume during pregnancy,

I'd most likely overdo it on purpose.

My younger brother is autistic.

It has nothing to do with anything my mom ate or didn't eat when she was pregnant.

Most likely it has nothing to do with anything that happened in the course of that time period.

My doctor once told me there's almost never a discernible cause of autism,

but the parents almost always blame themselves anyway.

It's a fluke,

but they can't seem to let go of this 

imaginary, self-imposed sense of guilt.

I just can't take a chance.

Besides the obvious preventative prenatal visits

and trying to avoid dangerous toxins

and prayer

and all that sort of thing

my food intake is one of the only aspects of my developing baby's health that I feel like I can control.

So I overeat.

And it gives me some peace.

And then I breastfeed.

And I eat a bit less,

but still too much.

And it's annoying,

but it, too, gives me some peace.

I've had a problem with my weight for as long as I can remember.

Not a real problem.

A mental problem.

I weighed a nice, round, even 130 lbs. 

(give or take a few) 

for the entirely of my high school and college careers.

It was a good weight.

I was a normal, healthy size.

But once when I was a kid, my mom told me I was "medium."

Not big, not small, just medium.

It was a logical statement,

and I should've felt good about it.

I do now.

I'd love dearly to wake up tomorrow morning

and be only one thirty again.

When I was dieting off my post-Mason weight,

it really wasn't going that well

until one evening,

staring disconsolately at the scale,

I said to Zach,

"I am NEVER going to lose this baby weight."

And he said,

"You don't HAVE to,

but you will..."

Fact: Some days your husband knows NOTHING.

And some other days he really does know you better than you know yourself.

I will...

I will lose the baby weight.

It's just who I am.

I can't live with it forever.

I want to be rid of it,

so eventually,

when I feel like the time is right

and the baby's on some solids

and I just can't stand those "fat" clothes anymore,

I'll just buckle down and lose it.

And until then, I'll keep one really important truth in mind:

I've had few to no stretch marks in my pregnant career.

It's the fat that haunts me.

That extra weight piles on while I cling desperately

to any practice that just MIGHT have ANY REMOTE chance of guaranteeing us a healthy baby.

My deliveries have been comparatively easy.

My struggles have all been cognitive

and fleeting.

I over-eat because I care enough

to confront my personal demons

in the interest of

protecting my most precious gift.

Baby Fat is my Badge of Honor.

Unlike Nigel, I do hope at some point it goes away,

but I can live well in the interim

with my many blessings to distract me.

Plus, Rule of Life Number Five-Hundred-and-Forty-Two:

No one else in life will ever judge you half as harshly

as the person looking back through your own mirror. 

Me & Zach at our family pictures.
Can't even see the Badge there, can ya?