Oddy Mommy Body

Disclaimer: Men - read at your own risk. I am not going to sugar-coat any of this. It may get too "gross" or crude for you. Women - if you are too prim and proper for "toilet talk", you should stop reading now.

You're still reading! Ok, well, you've been warned.

Last week I was curious so I stood on my scale. I pulled it out from behind a large stack of toilet paper and boxes of tampons under my bathroom sink and dusted it off. I stood on it and looked down. . . WOW! I weigh my "pre-Lucy" weight! At first I got really excited. Then I got really sad. This sinking feeling came over me and I got off the stupid scale. I put it back under the sink, and behind even more things to create more of a barrier between us.
How is this possible?! The scale says something that you would think would make me really happy and even proud of myself for. I mean, this is why I endure the early morning/late evening runs around my neighborhood. This is my motivation for the one or two times I denied an offer to indulge in a sweet treat. But somewhere along the way of trying to get "back into shape", it didn't happen. The shape part. The number on the scale is the same, but the mirror reminds me that my body didn't get the memo to return to it's original, pre-Lucy form.

My tummy still very much looks like a little person grew inside of it, stretched it out, and then exited - leaving a saggy chunk of skin that hangs over my belt. The skin is even a different color! And that "linea nigra" still hasn't gotten the message that we are no longer pregnant so it is free to go. I have a 7 month old, for crying out loud!!

This all happened after I had Ester as well. And honestly, it wasn't until she was about 2 years old that I started to feel (and look) like my normal self. It took that long to get comfortable in my new skin. And it took that long to realize that I would never fit back into my size 0 pants so I should just stop trying... I mean, my hips had stretched to fit a baby down my birth canal so it makes sense they didn't shrink back! But, don't you know - as soon as I started to feel okay with my new post-baby body, I got knocked up again!! Go figure. (I guess Derek was likin' what he saw as well) ;)

But even though it took that long for me to get over obsessing over some number on the scale, my skin didn't get to this sad or saggy state the first time around. I do, however, remember what my chest looked like after I stopped nursing Ester. She nursed for a year and a half. That's a looooong time to have someone sucking on and pulling on your boobs - Every. Single. Day. For 18 months my boobs filled up and were emptied. They were big then small. Big. Small. Repeat. But then when I stopped nursing her, they not only remained small, they defined the laws of gravity. (I said defiNed, not to be confused with defied.) I wasn't prepared for that. I had always had smaller boobs but at least they were perky! (That's how I made myself feel better about their pre-teen size) But after breastfeeding, the perkiness was no more. They looked more like deflated balloons.

Speaking of nursing, can I just switch gears for a second and say that breastfeeding your baby while being a working mom is a job in and of itself! Gracious! I literally get to pump myself every day, like a cow! But at least cows get a barn! Know what I get? A cold electrical closet right off of our break-room. You know, the room where the computer brains and all that techy stuff is at. And they have to keep it cold so the system doesn't overheat. So every workday, I go into this little closet, set up in a corner and PRAY that the tech guys don't walk in on my milking myself. Then, when I finish, I get to carry my giant pump back to my desk and try to do so discreetly. I'm pretty sure most of the men think I am just bringing in a cooler sized lunch box every day and that I must have some anxiety problem because I randomly disappear into the tech closet. I hate it when a man is in the break-room and I bust out of the closet, probably scaring the crap out of them because no one EVER comes out of there.
-- End work pumping rant. --


-- Continue body rant. --
You know how they say "you don't know what you got til it's gone"? In this case, I believe that to be true. Anytime I hear of another friend or family member getting pregnant, I give them all the same advice: Go home and take pictures of yourself in your lingerie! DO IT NOW! Because you may NEVER look like that again!! And you will want to remember how cute you were and how your skin looked before it was a collection of stretch marks, like a road map! (so seriously, if you just found out you are pregnant or you haven't been pregnant yet - stop wasting your time on this blog and go take some pictures of yourself! Work it!! Go schedule a boudoir photo shoot or something)

I hope you all know, I write all of this in fun. I feel the need to assure you that I do no dislike myself. I may not always like what I see but I have learned to laugh a little and carry on. I truly do love my body (not in the "look at me" kind of way that may have sounded but in the "I want to take care of myself and be a healthy person" kind of way.

I hope you also know that although my almost 29 year old body after two babies doesn't look like the 24 year old body I had, I would never trade it. I wear my new skin with pride. I don't cry about it or stare at it much. I cloth it in things I like, I dress it up sometimes, and I even un-dress it for my husband. I know that he is well aware of the toll that childbirth took on me. He watched them both enter this world and I am sure that he is grateful because not only did I willingly go through that, he is grateful that he will never have to. He has watched my body grow and shrink, grow and shrink - so that we can have our two beauties. I have (and continue to) offer my body to them for growth and nourishment. I am grateful for the miracle of being able to have my own children and breastfeed both of them. It is not something I take for granted. And I would trade all the bikinis in the world for my one-pieces.

I just also think it is healthy and good to laugh at yourself a little. I want so badly to teach my girls to love themselves in a way that is not dependent on a mirror. To dance and frolic and run and jump and play hard in their skin. To embrace their colors and shapes and sizes. To accept their talents and even their weaknesses (they may not both be so lucky to inherit their Daddy's love and ability in sports and may both end up the last man picked for kickball like I was). I want them to believe their bodies are good because something much bigger and greater than them has made it to be that way. I want them to be thankful for what I went through (and continue to go through) and draw strength from it, because someday (Lord willing) they may also have children. I also want them to know it is okay to not always like what they see, but to consciously choose to love it and embrace it. I want to be able to be open about this and not have them feel any shame for the changes they see and feel.

We go through so much for our babies. Physically, mentally, emotionally. . . and I want them to know that I am not perfect, but I am intentionally choosing to be a channel of love for them - one that is open to the Lord working through me, to show them the sweetness He offers and choose it instead of a lot of chaos and confusion and even deception that this world tries to offer them.
I want them to celebrate their beauty, and the beauty of others. Outwardly and inwardly.

So, I hope that you have laughed with me. I welcome you to laugh at me. I am comfortable in my own skin enough to do that and invite you to do the same. But I also invite you to love yourself. Not in a self-seeking sort of way that toots your own horn, but in a way that is grateful for what you have been given - the opportunity to live today and use your body to do so. Whether that be through a hug, a smile, or heck - (my personal favorite) - through a funky dance!!
And if you are a mommy, love your tummy. Love your stretch marks. Love all of the left-overs that remind you of the miracle of your baby (whether that baby be with you here on earth, or waiting for you in heaven).

1. Ester inside - 2011. Photo taken by http://hayleymichelphotography.com/
2. Lucy inside - 2013. Photo taken by http://hayleymichelphotography.com/
3. My sweet family outside - 2014. Photo taken by https://www.facebook.com/SherriGlennPhotography

A Time to Transition

When I look back at the last decade, I remember my life in seasons. There have been "dry" seasons where I felt like I was just going through the motions like a robot and there have been seasons of growth and joy (like when we lived in Honduras). Of all the different phases, the one that sticks out to me the most was our family's season of trauma and crises. If you know me well, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you don't, you may remember when I was updating my facebook status, asking for prayer for my niece, Lily. Lily lived 40(ish) hours. She was one of 3 deaths that happened in our family in less than 9 months. That season also included many sleepless nights for reasons I am not at liberty to discuss... That season was stormy. A dark cluster of pain and anger and confusion and desperation. It lasted from about May of 2011 to Feb of 2013.

Around Feb of 2013, life went on autopilot for me. I was tired of feeling so much all the time. God let me rest and honestly, I feel like he just sat and let me be. That was so refreshing. That was a really quiet time for me, like the few moments when you are waking up from a bad dream and you are deciphering between what is true and what you just saw. It was foggy numbness and He (God) slowly woke me up, breathing life and clarity into my bones.

From then until now, that is what has been happening for me. God is so kind and gentle and has given me time to draw me back into actively and intentionally "living". I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else. I don't know if I fully understand it myself, but I know that He is kind. And I also know that He has been up to something. God is ALWAYS up to something.
Thankfully. Because I am pretty much comfortable being up to nothing.

Right now, there is a stirring inside me. A swirling of energy happening and unlike what I described in the first paragraph of this post, I do not feel confused about it. I do not feel lost within it. I feel . . . grateful. Anxiously grateful.

There is a lot of transition that is taking place, but instead of feeling overwhelmed by that, I am choosing to feel "sifted." Like God is shaking out the access and unnecessary in order to purify a part of the whole. This is an essential step in the creative process, in the growing process.

My oldest sweetie, Ester, doesn't like change. She is comfortable with routine and does not deviate well. As result, when we know change is coming, we try really hard to prepare her for it. We have several conversations about what is to come so that she is not caught off guard. This helps her warm to it, and and ease into it. But there are also times when we cannot prepare her for change. When we don't know or when some unsuspected thing occurs. At first, she wigs out. She cries and fights it. But with time and us talking her through it, or helping her process it, she eventually trusts us and let's go.

I bring this up because I am a lot like Ester. In fact, I am finding that many of my struggles, I expose to my sweet girl and then I see them begin to take root in her (but that is another topic and one where I hold on to the freedom that grace brings for both of us). - Ah! Tangent! Back to change: I tend to fight it most of the time but then realize that there is very little control I have of it all so slowly (and with white knuckled fists), I release it- little by little.

So, that's where I'm at. In the middle of a lot of changes: I am going back to work full time for the first time since I had Ester. Ester and Lucy will both be in full time child care as result. Derek is in the middle of some transitions at work that will require more of his time. Derek's parents are moving to Oklahoma City after pastoring in Ardmore for 20 years. I have a nephew on the way. My sister is moving. My other sister is probably moving within the year and switching career paths . . . ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. Lots of change. Lots of learning and unlearning. Lots of sifting and moving parts. And as result - lots of letting go.

But in it all, I hold on to this: God is good. He is in control and I am not.