So here I am, taking a break from my massive closet overhaul project. All the maternity clothes are getting carefully packed away, hopefully to be pulled out again in two or three years. Despite the fact that I am so utterly sick to death of each and every pair of stretchy waisted slacks and empire waisted shirts, it still makes me feel a little sad to pack them away, and a little happy to think that one day in the not too distant future I might be pulling out those clothes again and dreaming of next baby who is just barely starting to make my belly swell.
The pants that still don't fit are also being packed away, but not so far out of reach (My darling size 2 skinny jeans, we will be reunited one day soon, I swear to you). The pants that didn't fit a couple of weeks ago but now--yes!--can just barely slide over my ass are heading back to their place of honor in my closet. And as for the many, many cute little shirts that used to be snug and sexy, but now take one look at my ridiculous breastfeeding cleavage and say to me, "Um, you've got to be kidding me if you think I'll fit over those mountains without busting at the seams," well, all those are going in a separate box to hibernate until weaning time.
It does feel quite a bit like a rite of passage, four weeks postpartum, to sort out the closet. Staring into the mirror as I try on nearly every piece of clothing I own, I've had plenty of time to see how pregnancy changed my body. I truly liked my body when I was pregnant, all dramatic curves full of visible life. It's funny, then, that the part of my body that bothers me the most postpartum is the place where the baby used to live inside me. The lower part of my belly has never really been flat--I'm too curvy and Italian for that--but it used to just fit into the crook of my hand. Then for a few months it was stretched as tight as it could go. Now it's all soft and squishy and poochy, with a few purplish striations where the baby stretched too hard against the skin. Without the baby, it looks deflated. The lower hem of my shirts get hung up now on my love handles.
I read something recently, I forget where, about celebrities who pose for beautiful pregnancy photos but get tummy tucks and liposuction and breast lifts as soon as the scheduled C-section is over. It's true, I think, that in this society we do celebrate the pregnant form, but the flab and sagging and stretch marks postpartum are considered something to be ashamed of. I hate that I'm catching myself even remotely buying into that mindset. I thought I was too smart for that.
But honestly, I'm not unhappy with the way that pregnancy has reshaped my body. I understand why it looks the way it does. And I love that my body was able to create and grow my son, and now it's able to give him all the nourishment that he needs to thrive. And I know that over the next few months I'll live a healthy lifestyle and my body will return to a more familiar shape, though maybe still different and less girlish than it was before I became a mother.
Aaron wandered into the room as I was pulling off one shirt and trying on another, and brushed a kiss against my cheek and said absentmindedly, "Mmm, sexy mama," and wandered off again. I don't know if he knew I sort of needed to hear that, but I loved that he said it all the same.
The pants that still don't fit are also being packed away, but not so far out of reach (My darling size 2 skinny jeans, we will be reunited one day soon, I swear to you). The pants that didn't fit a couple of weeks ago but now--yes!--can just barely slide over my ass are heading back to their place of honor in my closet. And as for the many, many cute little shirts that used to be snug and sexy, but now take one look at my ridiculous breastfeeding cleavage and say to me, "Um, you've got to be kidding me if you think I'll fit over those mountains without busting at the seams," well, all those are going in a separate box to hibernate until weaning time.
It does feel quite a bit like a rite of passage, four weeks postpartum, to sort out the closet. Staring into the mirror as I try on nearly every piece of clothing I own, I've had plenty of time to see how pregnancy changed my body. I truly liked my body when I was pregnant, all dramatic curves full of visible life. It's funny, then, that the part of my body that bothers me the most postpartum is the place where the baby used to live inside me. The lower part of my belly has never really been flat--I'm too curvy and Italian for that--but it used to just fit into the crook of my hand. Then for a few months it was stretched as tight as it could go. Now it's all soft and squishy and poochy, with a few purplish striations where the baby stretched too hard against the skin. Without the baby, it looks deflated. The lower hem of my shirts get hung up now on my love handles.
I read something recently, I forget where, about celebrities who pose for beautiful pregnancy photos but get tummy tucks and liposuction and breast lifts as soon as the scheduled C-section is over. It's true, I think, that in this society we do celebrate the pregnant form, but the flab and sagging and stretch marks postpartum are considered something to be ashamed of. I hate that I'm catching myself even remotely buying into that mindset. I thought I was too smart for that.
But honestly, I'm not unhappy with the way that pregnancy has reshaped my body. I understand why it looks the way it does. And I love that my body was able to create and grow my son, and now it's able to give him all the nourishment that he needs to thrive. And I know that over the next few months I'll live a healthy lifestyle and my body will return to a more familiar shape, though maybe still different and less girlish than it was before I became a mother.
Aaron wandered into the room as I was pulling off one shirt and trying on another, and brushed a kiss against my cheek and said absentmindedly, "Mmm, sexy mama," and wandered off again. I don't know if he knew I sort of needed to hear that, but I loved that he said it all the same.
). Cleaning out the closet and buying new tank tops and t-shirts to fit my new giant boobs are both at the top of my to-do list. I've been putting off the closet reorganization because every time I think about starting, all the thoughts you talked about having come to mind and I haven't been in the right mind space to deal with that just yet. Thanks so much for sharing!
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