I weighed myself this morning, after breakfast instead of first thing (which is when I would normally do it). I’m not worried about losing the baby weight one iota. It took 8 months to get on, so it will be about that before I will be back to full fitness again. However, I am 1.5kg off my pre-pregnancy weight. I stepped off then back on the scales again to double-check.
I have no idea where it’s gone. My shape is completely different to what it was before, my waist is still thicker, from every angle, my ribs are still separated too. But I love that this body made and carried a child with no input, apart from food from me. It knew what to do, it knows how to repair itself too. Despite the surgery, I can now move around freely, I can sit up in bed without having to think about it first. I’m not doing too much, Hubs is doing the majority of the housework and will be until the beginning of August. I can’t drive, again until the beginning of August, I’m going to send a list of appointments I’ve got to a colleague and hope that she can organise lifts for me, taking people up on their kind offers of help.
Taking help for me is hard. I am so bloody independent, so stubborn, so bloody-minded about things. A case in point? The pile of ironing we’ve got to do. There is no point anyone else doing it, I’ll be wincing, so I need to work out how I can do it sitting down and just work my way through it. Indeed asking for anything I want is hard for me. So many times I’ve been asked to say what I want, for it to be ignored and rejected out of hand, I struggle to get the words out. I keep apologising to Hubs saying ‘Sorry, can you please get me x or y?’ or ‘I’m sorry, I’ve left z in the other room.’ Why I need to preface everything with an apology, I’ve no idea.
This pregnancy and postpartum journey will be good for me, I know it will. I’m already infinitely more patient. I’m already amazed at how little sleep I can function on. I’ve been in awe of this body I’m in and how it’s carried me through since I fell pregnant in October/November, but there are somethings I won’t miss about being pregnant:
- Heartburn – nuff said.
- Morning sickness – I know that was long gone, but I just hate feeling sick.
- Not being able to sleep on my tummy, although I’ve not tried that just yet, curling up in a ball with the quilt wrapped around me is bliss at night.
- Being kicked in my ribs, va-jay-jay, stomach or whatever else organ was in Peanut’s way. 12 days in though, I still keep waiting to feel him move inside me. It feels odd that he’s not there. Even though he’s now here.
- The lumbering waddle I developed towards the end. I am loving walking smoothly and quickly again.
I’m sure there are other things to add to that list, but at the moment, I can’t think of anything else. I’m too busy enjoying spending time with my husband, I’m enjoying watching him tend to his son, falling in love with the baby together as we learn what each sound, squeak and cry means. Working a tag-team over nights, pottering around the house together during the day.
We went to the Motorshow in Melbourne today, walking round with Hanno, all three of us pushing the pram in turn. Looking at cars, peering into the back seat of some, sitting in others, talking about the merits of this vs. that. I had a wonderful time, I love car shows, driving home Walking on Sunshine came on the radio, I turned it up, sang along, waggled my head like you used to do in 80s discos. Hubs said to Peanut, ‘Mama’s weird.’ I replied, ‘No, Mama’s happy.’
I’ve spent so much of my life unhappy, I’m going to relish every minute of this time with him while he’s tiny. It’s never going to be repeated and before we know it, he’ll be sitting up on his own and borrowing the car keys. The last thing I want to be worried about is am I in my skinny jeans.