Loving My Mom-bod...

Namastè!

I hope you're experiencing copious amounts thereof tonight.

I'm here planning new additions to my fall collection and I'm actually happy with my sizes!

That's not a big thing, in and of. Baby Namastè's just seven months old so even if I did have weight loss goals, I would still have five months before I began considering them. See, I learned a magic trick.

I love my Mom-bod!

I learned to, through much trial and error.

I lost the baby weight pretty quickly. (No humble brag there-- I  endured hyperemesis gravidarium and spent my entire pregnancy flagellating between IV nutrition and trying to tough things out with Phenergan, as Zofran had no effect.) I was so utterly sick that I almost forgot that eating is enjoyable!

Which brings us to chapter two--those cravings associated with nursing hit me hard. I often joke that while I did feel a bit left out because I had no pregnancy cravings, the nursing cravings have come in on a blazing steed to make up for lost calories. Time! Make up for lost time. I just rode the wave. After all, I couldn't deny my little prince his very own baby rolls. I just neeeded to not grow my own. So, indulge I did. Admittedly, I still do.

At first I would look at the scale and feel like Sta-Puff Girl. Seriously, I hadn't prepared myself for the sticker shock. The number still said 138. Every scale--digital, non-digital, and the one in the doctor's office--all read my normal weight exactly. My body didn't feel 138. My body felt 178!!!

Baby Namastè was born in February. It was still cold out, so I wasn't doing my walks and I certainly wasn't hitting anyone's gym. Gyms have never been my cup of tea anyway.  That frigid air was all the reason I needed to stay indoors, playing with Kids Namastè and snuggling Baby Namastè while inhaling that newborn sweetness.

Winter ended, and I was still miraculously not a double me. That 138 stayed constant, as did the feeling of 178. I started back walking, because I have an incredible stroller and my son sleeps through almost anything. I felt like my old self again when I started getting fresh air and seeing things besides the inside of the house. And fridge, can't forget that. I did nothing but nurse and pump, so I was constantly in the fridge eating or storing milk. The former contributed to chapter three.

When they tell you that your body changes after a kid, they don't lie a bit. I lost about three more pounds, but everything fit differently. How was I smaller, yet still having a weird go of getting dressed? Shirts were tighter, pants were not sitting as they previously had. I jokingly called clothing, the can. Either I'd fill it out OR look like a can of biscuits.

I jest about the biscuits.

I was cinnamon rolls. The buttery, gooey, delicious kind like from Cinnabon. They don't even fit in a can. Nope. My Cinnabon self? I had to buy all new cans.

Weight redistributes itself. Mine? It went to some places I have made myself quite ok with! I got hips, y'all. Nursing does some cleavage good. I don't work out (read, walk) to lose weight, but to make sure I stay toned. I'm not even interested in being a size six anymore. I feel so content in this "new" body that I don't even pay attention to the number in sizes now. I go by fit and comfort. Admittedly it helps that Hubby Namastè is a darling and always lets me know he thinks I'm the bee's knees.

I stopped being ruled by numbers because even though the scale didn't really change, my body did. This body also made, carried, and brought forth a little dimple-faced, curly-haired, grey-eyed prince, a little boy I feel like I waited my whole life to meet. This body has nourished that little love muffin for seven months strong now. This body, for all its imperfections, is gonna be my soul's home til my assignment here is finished.

...I love me.

Admittedly I didn't overcome a huge weight struggle, nor did I gain or lose overnight. I didn't take a massive lifestyle change or alter my diet dramatically. (I don't even like that word.) I tried to apply my own principles though, the first of which is BE KIND TO SELF. I didn't beat myself up about sizing out of those skinny jeans. I didn't give myself hell for having cake. I didn't entertain those fleeting thoughts of "what if."

I love me. I also love my shell, my vessel.

I love my Mom-bod.

Please love yours, too. Wether you need bigger cans or you've gone down to miniature serving cups is irrelevant! Let no one shame your shell, because YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

Namastè!

-- Tayè K ♡