The Size of the Matter

This week, when I went to my 5 month midwife appointment, I couldn't make the scale work (it's one of those fancy high-tech ones, so, of course, it's prone to fail) and didn't get a weigh-in. When I went in to a CVS Minute Clinic to get an Albuterol prescription, I was weighed... and found that I've gained more in the past month than I have in the remainder of my pregnancy all together! I know a lot of that is fluid retention, because by the evenings, the tops of my feet look hammy already. But I'm not worried about any of it; I'm still well within (and maybe even a bit under) "norms" for 25 weeks.

Still, that whole thing has me a bit on edge.

What "whole thing,"? you ask. I'll tell you...

When I've been to see the midwife, my pulse and blood pressure has been pretty consistent, with my pulse ranging from 64 in March to 76 in January and April (the earlier they take it, the higher it is because the walk to the center is extremely uphill) and my blood pressure from a systolic low of 98 in February to a high of 110 in March and a diastolic low of 64 in January to a high of 74 in February.

(P.S. All of this is online for my perusal; I kind of love the future.)

Throughout my pregnancy, I have ridden my bike and walked, typically covering a minimum of 14 miles per week, mostly on bike because that's easier for me... but I get more company when I walk, so I'll do that, too. I continue my chores and have spent the last two weeks moving things, deep cleaning, and building furniture. I don't feel like taking it easy nor do I think that'd be particularly healthy for me.

Plus, today, the errands I ran would have taken longer in the car. I needed to get my Albuterol and called at 4:21 to see if the pharmacy was open. They were, but when I asked if it were normal hours (open until 9 PM), the tech said no. "We close in 38 minutes and 38 seconds." So I jumped on my bike and rode 1.2 miles, most of it up a Guadalupe alternate and if you've ever driven up the Drag or its surrounds, you know it's plagued with stop lights and stop signs and pedestrians and it takes FOREVER. I got my medicine and went a couple of blocks to Breed and Company for Soda Stream supplies, then headed back, getting home by 4:45.

When I'm at the midwife's, they're always pleased about my robust health, but at the clinic it was different... The nurse practitioner was obviously extremely surprised that my numbers would look so good, and the only reason I can think of as to why would be because I am a big old pregnant lady. I'm guessing she took a look at me and figured I was one too-high-curb-climb away from a heart attack, or maybe one brownie away from a diabetic coma. Or perhaps because I don't have insurance (a financial choice at this point, rather than a financial necessity), she assumed that I probably don't take my health seriously.

Now let's forward to today when I was using a 20% off coupon on the Bed, Bath, and Beyond website. I need a belly support band because if I walk more than about two miles, it really starts to stretch the skin at the base of my stomach. My back feels fine, and I have NO pressure when I'm on the bike. But I remember the same thing happening with Daphne, and it got intensely painful, to the point that once I was afraid I'd somehow hurt her.

While I was on the site looking for "belly band" and "belly support," I saw a number of items that really made me frustrated. There were more products for postpartum "reshaping" than maternity support. I don't mean belts you might wear if you'd had a C-section and required support. I mean "sucks you in so no one can see what a flabby stomach you have, you gooey disgusting tub of lard." Literally, one of the nursing tanks is called "Mother Tucker."

Discussing this with James, he told me about a friend of his who had gotten back into bikini shape within 6 weeks of having her baby, and who was very proud of this, loving to shock other new moms when they learned how young her child was. Discussing all of THIS with my sister brought up this picture that made the rounds last year (I think even Dr. Laura posted it, recommending it as motivation and that everyone has time for fitness).

Well.

Here's the deal: I weighed 190 before I got pregnant with Daphne and guess what? I could run five miles. I couldn't run five miles when I was in college and weighed 148 (which is the least I can remember weighing ever; I think I was at about 170 when I graduated high school). I have weighed a lot, and I have weighed a lot less, and I have never looked like the lady in this picture. I have never worn a bikini because it's just not my style, but even if I had, I'd never have been able to pull off the look to a "you oughta be in a magazine!" extent.

Looks are all about looks. You cannot tell whether someone is fit based solely on their looks, or how much they weigh. When I was at my lowest weight, I was the least healthy I've ever been in my life. I was obsessed with every calorie; I wrote down everything I ate including the calorie and fat content. I would not eat more than 7 grams of fat per day. Many of my calories came from fat free things like jelly beans and candy corn. I ate a lot of processed disgusting par-foods like fake butter and Pringles fried in Olean. I had what I would come to learn was exercise bulimia, meaning that if I realized I'd somehow eaten more calories than I'd intended, I would have to work out or walk or do something to even it out or I'd be incapacitated with panic and self-hate. I exercised every other day, and if I was at someone's house and it seemed like I wouldn't have time to exercise at home, I'd exercise there. Like in their living room. While we were talking. I did not eat after 6:00 PM. I was a wreck.

Old pictures are difficult to look at, sort of, because I think that there are times in my life when I looked "better" (read: skinnier) than I did, say, when James and I got married. They're even harder to have shared on Facebook, because when people comment about how awesome I look (because they don't realize how old the picture is), I am very tempted to feel bad about myself. But the truth is, when I lost a bunch of weight when Daphne was a year to two years old, I did it because I was told to. It made me self-conscious about having people look at me. It made me feel like I was not worthy of love because I was disgusting. And when I lost more weight a few years later, it was because my weight was creeping back up and I wanted to address it before it was brought to my attention. Physically, I was a lot healthier than when I was at my lowest weight, but emotionally, I was a wreck.

At some point, I came to peace with the fact that (excepting the ruptured disc), my body does what I want it to. It moves where I want it to go, and it does so without much protest. It's functional. It's borne a lot over time. It is not my enemy.

Being pregnant is awesome for me. I get to be a lot less self-conscious about the shape I'm in (I mean literal shape, not fitness level) because I know how adorable pregnancy is. Especially at 41, I'll take all of the "adorable" that I can generate.

But here's the deal: In the fall, I'll have a newborn. I'll be re-acclimating to that wonderful and terrible world of having another human being completely dependent on me (and my husband) for survival. It's overwhelming. I will not be bullied into obsessing over whether the skin around my middle is unattractively bouncy. I have some choice words for marketers and other moms (please, ladies! We should SUPPORT each other) who would shame me into it, but my mom reads this blog, so I'll just say that the phrase begins with an "f" and it ends with a "u." Or an exclamation point. But you get the idea.

Daphne didn't sleep through the night until she was more than 9 months old. It took me until she was just over a year before I was physically and emotionally ready to address the fact that I was eating as much as I had been when I was expecting, and I hadn't been able to nurse, so I was not doing my body any favors.

The fact that I was still carrying "baby" weight, meaning I was overweight even MORE than usual, after all of that time makes me no worse a person or a woman than James' friend who was back to her fighting weight after 6 weeks. It just means that we had different paths, and different priorities. I don't assume mine were any better or more noble than hers, and I'd appreciate the return courtesy.

Also, my weight was not an indicator that I was lazy or letting myself go. I lived with six teenage boys from the time Daphne was 2 months old until she was 8 months old. I promise you, I was doing plenty. When I could get away from the house to push D in a stroller for half an hour, it felt like a release from prison. I'd have loved to keep up some regular fitness regime; it just was not feasible for those months.

One of the many things I love about going to see the midwife is that, in addition to not treating me like a freak because of my age, the only reason they care about my weight is that they want to make sure there aren't sudden spikes or drops, indicating a problem. If I were sedentary, I'm sure they'd encourage me to move it. If my diet were an issue, they'd tell me. But they don't assume that "big" means I'm doing something wrong, or that I need to fit into some norm that someone has on paper or in a picture of what the "ideal" anything looks like.

Do you know what I did when Daphne was an infant? I wrote a novel. Seriously. You can buy it here, I don't know that it's very awesome, but it's a real thing. You know what I didn't do? I didn't post a link to it on social media and ask, "What's Your Excuse?" You know why? Because I can only assume that, as much as I love writing, that's not everyone's forte, and what's the point of being a jerk about it?

I read this once and love it: "People who choose exercise activities, meaning various types of movement or fitness, as a hobby are no more praiseworthy than people who choose anything else as a hobby."

So, you ladies who have been pregnant in the past and now have washboard abs, good for you! That's your thing, and you go do it and be happy. I wrote a lot of stuff that moved a lot of people during the years between my daughter's birth and when she turned three. If you can agree not to try to make me feel ashamed for being "fat," I won't try to make you feel ashamed for being "less articulate" or "dumber" or whatever. Actually, I won't do that, anyway.

Companies, if you're really mom-friendly, then help me be a good mom without giving me MORE things to have to worry about, like "being fierce" and "reclaiming my pre-baby body!"

Public at large, don't look at me and make assumptions about my health, fitness, or lifestyle based on the fact that I'm a certain age or a certain size.

Tomorrow morning, a lot of ladies will get up early and go to the gym. I'll get an equal amount of pleasure from baking, consuming, and watching my family eat the cinnamon rolls I just prepared. As far as I'm concerned, some food *does* taste as good as (or better than) being thin feels, and that's totally okay.