Pre-Pregnancy Weight: No Ifs, Ands, or Big Butts

"Nine months on, nine months off." This is the mantra of any new mother seeking consolation in her old pair of skinny jeans. We hear this timeline and tell ourselves it seems reasonable to "get back to" our former bodies as if counting calories or taking walks was an actual time machine for our thighs.

For some, nine months is nine days. For others, nine months is years and years or never again. But, one thing is true for any mother - your body is never the same after having a baby. This isn't a story about weight loss, though. No, there's a much bigger lesson here than cracking the code to losing weight. (Otherwise I'd be sharing terrible tips like how to survive on a steady diet of Goldfish crackers and frozen waffles.)

Since driving myself crazy with body image issues in my youth, I strive to keep a healthy and reasonable outlook when it comes to my self-talk and body image.  But, it's not easy. I don't step on the scale very often, but last week I weighed myself and to my surprise saw my magic number: I'd reached my pre-pregnancy weight. I felt a sense of relief and pride as any semi-normal, semi-neurotic, red blooded American woman would. With my baby approaching her 9 month milestone, it seemed I'd met the goal right on time. I slipped on my Spanx, buttoned my jeans, and headed out the door with my head held high.

I took my middle daughter to Preschool as usual, toting her backpack and baby sister on my hip as we walked her to class. The hallway is always bustling with kids and moms in the morning, so it didn't phase me when another child walked up and started smiling at baby Vivian. Then, the child turned to me and said the words every non-pregnant woman cringes to hear: "Are you pregnant? You look like you're going to have another baby!"

SERIOUSLY?!

After I punched the kid in the face...(Okay, I'm kidding, but in my imagination some version of that story definitely took place)

After I politely (and rather directly) corrected the youngster, I caught myself being completely deflated by what I had been proud of only moments earlier. I sucked in my stomach and silently retorted with a million "Seriously?s" in my head, frustrated by the false announcement. I paused. I sighed. An innocent, tactless, little twerp had put me in my place and I was ready to hand over my body image rights to the opinion of a five year old. Hmm. Who was being more ridiculous in this scenario?

Like most women, I've grown up in a society that has taught me to value a pound of flesh over an ounce of character, so my worth gets easily wrapped up in thoughts of cellulite and muffin tops. The world bombards us mamas with images of celebrity-bumps-begone, invading our realities with unattainable expectations that if we really had our acts together the jiggly belly that once housed a human would disappear before we checked out of the maternity ward. Our reality lines get blurry at the crossroads of "enough" and "perfect" to the point that we doubt the beauty of our inside the moment we question the beauty of our outside.

If we let the world decide how we're supposed to look, and we allow that judgment to affect us, our big mama butts don't stand a chance. 

I've never met a mama who didn't admit her soul was changed the moment she held her baby for the first time. Motherhood changes us, inside and out. Yes, my jeans will never fit quite the same way again. My booty is flat and my tummy is puffy and scarred forever. Don't even get me started on the nursing boobs (heading south like their trying to make it to Rio in time for the Olympics). It's true, my physical body is full of evidence that I've carried creatures into this world. Beautiful, magical creatures...that turn into the very people I sit with and laugh and discipline and hug every day.

I look like a mom, and it's awesome. Because for every little pooch or sag that shows on the outside, there are a million more signs of life on the inside that are far more important. 

My pregnancies taught me to be patient, to sit in awe, to truly feel life, and to love the unknown. My children grow me, challenge me, strengthen me, stretch me, and enlighten me daily. By getting to know who they are, I'm forced to shake up my instincts and be intentional with my thoughts and actions according to their needs. They have made me more creative, selfless, generous, patient, or loving than I ever thought possible. It is suuuuuuper difficult and uncomfortable, constantly learning how to parent these magical creatures that keep changing and growing along with me...but, I wouldn't trade it for a Victoria's Secret figure no matter what.

Mamas, it's time to love our whole selves, inside and out. Let's really own this mom body thing. Let's set the scale aside and buy new jeans and laugh off ridiculous comments from silly kids that are still trying to figure out how that baby got in your tummy in the first place. Let's compliment each other more often and smile when we are too tired to think of anything to say. Let's have the beauty of the soul-changing miracle we endured be evident in our self-talk and show up in how we care for ourselves.

I'm not saying this is easy or happening overnight.  Maybe it will take another nine months to believe all the truths I start to tell myself today. But, we can do it, mamas. You and me, and our beautiful baby-making-bodies at every weight, in every shape, full of treasures from the inside out. No buts about it.

2 Corinthians 4:16 
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

Psalm 139:14
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.

Breaking the Internet and the Hearts of Mothers Everywhere: Reposting My Open Letter to Kim K

(This is a repost which is wildly relevant again today in light of recent events.)

Dear Kim,

Let me admit right off the bat that I have zero expectation of you ever reading this.  I understand you are in the one-zillionth percentile of celebrities who could probably care less about normies like myself who have an opinion about our perception of who you are.  This is more than a letter, it's a format for me to use my tiny space on the web to get the word out on how I feel about your recent actions.  So, let's call a spade a spade and get that out of the way.  Fair enough.

You broke the internet this weekend.  You posed for a cover of a magazine and fully exposed your derriere for the world to gawk at.  It's not the first time you've given the masses something to get bug-eyed about, and I'm certain it won't be the last.  But, you broke more than the internet - you broke my heart.

From what I can tell, you and I only have one thing in common - but, it's a big thing (no, not that big thing, my flat booty holds no contest to your curves).  We're both mothers of girls.  We're raising females in a world where individuals with money, looks, and power are considered "successful".

We're raising girls in a society that values dominance and accumulation over integrity and virtue.  And while you and I might stand at very opposite ends of these spectrums, I would gather that you know these things to be true even more than I do.  You're in it.  You're living it.  You are the proof that these things get noticed, shared, and applauded.

But, here's where we part ways.  I don't get how you can do use your platform in that way and raise your daughter in this world.  Why, Kim, why?

There's an astronomical amount I want to teach my daughters, and not one of them has to do with the size of her ass.  I want my girls to know they can be smart and beautiful, full of integrity and authoritative, compassionate and assertive, and while they can play with their Barbies and watch Disney Princesses fall in love, they hold so much more in their unique little hearts than their body will ever ever ever be able to reflect on the outside.  They are more than their booties.  More than their someday-breasts.  More than their clothes, hair, or perfect skin.  Barbie ain't got nothin on my babies!

Kim, you are more than your backside.  You may have first been noticed in the celebrity world because of your curvy booty, but you are greater than the sum of your parts (or one part in particular) if you'd give us a chance to notice that too.  We have NO IDEA who you really are, and you aren't helping us get to know you.  In fact, your backside is preventing us from seeing who you might actually be, and the platform you've been given in this life could be used for so much more for our daughters.

We live vastly different lives, no doubt.  But, you and I have girls who would laugh and play and share silly stories about tutus and dolls if we got together, I guarantee it.  They would color pictures, sing songs, and at the end of the day the glare of the world's view of their value would melt away in the sound of their giggles.  We're not just raising girls, we're raising future mothers too.  No matter what they grow up to look like - whether they have model curves or model noses or model waistlines, let's remember this - we're raising the next generation of role models.

If you could do me and mothers everywhere a favor and just sit on that truth (pun intended, of course) then maybe you can gain some perspective of how crazy and massive this whole parenting thing really is.  I'm not here to hate you cause you're pretty or bash on you cause of the choices you've made.  This isn't some call to judgement about why I think you're a terrible person.  It's an invitation.  An invitation to engage more than your looks and your power - an invitation to take a step towards empowering the girls we're raising to someday become leaders and rockers and artists and musicians and scientists and engineers who change the world for the better.

Then maybe we'll see magazine covers of women exposing their brilliance rather than their bodies.  Maybe it's possible.  Maybe you could help.

Sincerely,

Emily Pardy

Breaking the Internet and the Hearts of Mothers Everywhere: An Open Letter to Kim Kardashian

Dear Kim,

Let me admit right off the bat that I have zero expectation of you ever reading this.  I understand you are in the one-zillionth percentile of celebrities who could probably care less about normies like myself who have an opinion about our perception of who you are.  This is more than a letter, it's a format for me to use my tiny space on the web to get the word out on how I feel about your recent actions.  So, let's call a spade a spade and get that out of the way.  Fair enough.

You broke the internet this weekend.  You posed for a cover of a magazine and fully exposed your derriere for the world to gawk at.  It's not the first time you've given the masses something to get bug-eyed about, and I'm certain it won't be the last.  But, you broke more than the internet - you broke my heart.

From what I can tell, you and I only have one thing in common - but, it's a big thing (no, not that big thing, my flat booty holds no contest to your curves).  We're both mothers of girls.  We're raising females in a world where individuals with money, looks, and power are considered "successful".

We're raising girls in a society that values dominance and accumulation over integrity and virtue.  And while you and I might stand at very opposite ends of these spectrums, I would gather that you know these things to be true even more than I do.  You're in it.  You're living it.  You are the proof that these things get noticed, shared, and applauded.

But, here's where we part ways.  I don't get how you can do use your platform in that way and raise your daughter in this world.  Why, Kim, why?

There's an astronomical amount I want to teach my daughters, and not one of them has to do with the size of her ass.  I want my girls to know they can be smart and beautiful, full of integrity and authoritative, compassionate and assertive, and while they can play with their Barbies and watch Disney Princesses fall in love, they hold so much more in their unique little hearts than their body will ever ever ever be able to reflect on the outside.  They are more than their booties.  More than their someday-breasts.  More than their clothes, hair, or perfect skin.  Barbie ain't got nothin on my babies!

Kim, you are more than your backside.  You may have first been noticed in the celebrity world because of your curvy booty, but you are greater than the sum of your parts (or one part in particular) if you'd give us a chance to notice that too.  We have NO IDEA who you really are, and you aren't helping us get to know you.  In fact, your backside is preventing us from seeing who you might actually be, and the platform you've been given in this life could be used for so much more for our daughters.

We live vastly different lives, no doubt.  But, you and I have girls who would laugh and play and share silly stories about tutus and dolls if we got together, I guarantee it.  They would color pictures, sing songs, and at the end of the day the glare of the world's view of their value would melt away in the sound of their giggles.  We're not just raising girls, we're raising future mothers too.  No matter what they grow up to look like - whether they have model curves or model noses or model waistlines, let's remember this - we're raising the next generation of role models.

If you could do me and mothers everywhere a favor and just sit on that truth (pun intended, of course) then maybe you can gain some perspective of how crazy and massive this whole parenting thing really is.  I'm not here to hate you cause you're pretty or bash on you cause of the choices you've made.  This isn't some call to judgement about why I think you're a terrible person.  It's an invitation.  An invitation to engage more than your looks and your power - an invitation to take a step towards empowering the girls we're raising to someday become leaders and rockers and artists and musicians and scientists and engineers who change the world for the better.

Then maybe we'll see magazine covers of women exposing their brilliance rather than their bodies.  Maybe it's possible.  Maybe you could help.

Sincerely,

Emily Pardy

Blemish

The other day, I was going about my usual routine of getting ready to go out.  For me (a total make-up fiend) this usually involves a quick moment to "put my face on" and face the public as if I'm well rested and give a care.  I gazed into the mirror, dabbing on moisturizer and smearing foundation, covering up the flaws and accentuating the positive so to speak.

Then, I noticed something on my forehead, a small blemish that I hadn't been aware of.  Yuck, what's that?  Ugh, breaking out again?  I rubbed my forehead, trying to figure out the best way to conceal the flaw, but nothing covered it up.  I looked closer, frustrated and confused as to why it didn't disappear under make-up.

Then, in that split-second, I realized that I didn't have a blemish on me at all - it was a speck of make-up on the mirror that had given the illusion something was on my face.  Relieved, I wiped the mirror and went on with my routine.

In that ridiculous moment, I thought how foolish I was to instantly assume something was wrong with me.  I don't have the best skin in the world, and so I immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was my face that was blemished, and I left no room for argument.  Then, my perspective changed.  And when I saw the blemish for what it really was, my perspective of myself changed too.

We can be so quick to find the flaws in ourselves.

If you're like me, I can be quick to be critical of myself.  Not just body image or skin quality - but, how I mother my children, how I love my husband, how I treat others, and how I manage my time.  I can quickly point out the flaws and things I'd like to change - that's the easy part!  But, am I seeing everything from the right perspective?  Am I able to step back and spot the blemishes that aren't really blemishes at all?

None of us see ourselves as others see us - and, chances are good that people think we look a lot better than we think we do.  I'm all for self-improvement - don't get me wrong - but, in  a world that constantly tries to tell us (especially as women and mothers) that we're not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, etc..... (the list is long, as you know!) sometimes it's okay to clean the filthy mirror and see who we really are:  beautiful daughters of the King, working hard, loving well, and striving to make a difference (even if that difference for the day means not burning the frozen waffles in the toaster that morning - hey, that counts!)

Go take a look at your gorgeous self - flaws and all - and please, do yourself a favor and clean that mirror!  You might just smile at what you see. (I hope you do!)

pardymama: The Clip Show

Hello world!  And welcome to the new PARDYMAMA!  As you might notice, I've had things spruced up a bit around here.  Hooray - the new design is rocking my face off and I hope you are loving it too.  Redbud Designs is to thank, and I'm so stoked to show off the new pardymama site as it inspires me to keep posting more and more.  So - what do you think?

I figured if there were ever a time to re-introduce myself - maybe this is it.  In other words, this is the clip show of blog posts.  So, some of you who are closest to me might find yourselves bored to death reading this post (yes, yes, two girls, a husband, needs coffee, yadda yadda yadda) but I hope that it can help others who stumble upon the site (or who have had my favorite friends [hug] pass it on to them) to sit a spell and look forward to checking in again and again.  Who knows.  All I know is that God is keeping me writing.  God is keeping the content coming and the coffee flowing, and so, I will continue to pour out whatever content that is supposed to be out here in the world instead of just stewing and rotting in my brain (there's always plenty left for that anyway).  So - what's pardymama all about?  Here we go...

Motherhood.
I sort of initially started to blog in 2010, not long after the birth of my first daughter, Matilda.  If you're as bad at math as I am (it's okay, I think there should be a support group out there for those of us who still use our fingers to count for everything from dollars to calories to how many children we have on a daily basis) that makes her just over 2 and a half (this "half" is very important in the toddler world).

I didn't think anyone would actually ever read what I wrote.  I don't mean that in a pathetic, self-pity sort of way.  I mean it in a "I am not going to be one of those mom bloggers who puts everything out there and writes stuff like her baby's birth story and breastfeeding at the office" sort of way.  Ha.  But then when I became pregnant with our second daughter, the inspiration was too fascinating to ignore.  I had real, life-altering events happening to me on a nearly daily basis, and I needed an outlet to survive.  So, I just sort of kept writing about them.

And, turns out, there are other moms in the universe besides me (really?) who aren't sleeping (huh?) and don't have much more than a cup of coffee and a prayer to keep them going through the day (who knew?) and sort of actually like to hear about how my girls are driving me so insanely crazy that I constantly walk the boundary line between frantic frustration and utter in-love-ness with them each and every day (you too?) and how motherhood is teaching me more about life and love and God than I ever thought possible even though there are times when I want to just huddle in a corner, plug my ears, and sing the Friends theme-song so loud that it drowns out the noise of any needs I might not be able to meet.  And I wake up the next day.  And I do it all again.  And so do you...and we are all crazy together.  

Marriage.
I love being married.  A lot of people might say "I love my husband" and I do, but I also just love the idea/entity/purpose of marriage itself.  To choose every day to put another person before yourself, to stick with them, to stand beside them and hold them through the most beautiful and horrendous moments in your life and to share them as one united perspective...well, it blows my mind.  God's design of marriage is nothing short of a miracle, and the fact that we choose to be around each other after seeing each other puke or having two crazy babies or not sleeping for weeks on end or asking him a million times to take out the trash or forgetting over and over to pack him a lunch (well, you can see that we have plenty of practice left before we conquer the art of marriage) it's pretty much just amazing.  But, it's not a flourishing garden if left unattended.

Having lived through a wicked divorce in my early twenties, I've learned the depth of God's grace and redemption and exactly what it means to lay down yourself and take on the humility and love that Christ offers for us all.  I know what loneliness feels like.  I've tasted bitterness and hate.  I've felt the lies of insecurity and shame.  I know how slowly time passes when your soul is healing and everyone identifies "who you are" with "what you've been through".   And I've lived to tell about it.  And I've survived to rejoice in the new day.  And I'm here to celebrate marriage and be honest about what it can take to make it good and lasting (Jesus Jesus Jesus).

And my husband and I are silly and intentional and have ridiculous rules of fun that I want to share with the universe out there - you know, the universe with that ugly statistic half of us are now part of.  That universe that keeps us unsatisfied and looking for more.  And, instead, I'm determined to create and live in a place that God intended for us...an environment that can nurture selflessness and togetherness and keep our love humming and drumming for years and years and many date nights to come...through thick and thin, puke and craziness, kids and pets and all of it.

Mayhem.
If there is one thing the Pardys are known for, it's going to be this:  mayhem.  Just walk by our apartment and you will most likely hear someone screaming, be it out of elation, naughtiness, genius, joy, anger, or hunger...we are a spirited bunch.  I am adamant about desiring to live a transparent life.  I think Satan motivates pride and discontent under the guise of shame and insecurity...and so, I highly value the art of spewing my guts out for all to see.  Pretty, right?  Maybe not.

But, I don't pull any punches when it comes to how God is working in my life or how honest it may get around here.  I'll tell you one thing, I'm not into shock value.  I'm into honesty.  Certainly I will tell grand tales that are exaggerated in the storytelling of them...but, the emotions and lessons behind them all will be sincere and genuine, I promise.

I want non-parents to know what this life of parenthood is like before they might enter into it.  I want other husbands and wives to feel validated and encouraged when they are questioning how to keep loving their spouse.  I want moms to feel hugged on with every word of mischief I write about my girls.  I want the world to be so full of these stories of hope and honesty and conversations (i.e. this is where you come in) about how marriages and parenthood keeps getting better and better that we drown out the complaining and lies and reality shows and billboards that are frighteningly threatening what our hearts truly desire.  But, it's not a journey we take alone, or silently, or without a few messes along the way.

Looks like this blog is here to stay and I hope you are too!  I'm excited to see where pardymama is headed, what stories are to come, how the tales will roll out, and what God may or may not show us all through this weird world of internet that connects us together in a little hub of chaos.

I love questions, I love comments, I love hearing from each and every one of you who stumble upon this little blog.  I love your stories, I love your honesty, I love it when you share how God is working in your own little world.  I love being a mother, being married, and the mayhem that each new day brings my way.  I also love those little toothpicks with the tiny cellophane frills on top.  (See, I'm random like that.)

I hope that this little ole blog can be a giant hug for you every time you visit (Pardys are huggers, not hand shakers, btw) and that you keep checking in for a good dose of reality on a regular basis.  Cause, Lord only knows, there plenty more crazy left to be written.

Body of Evidence: Part TWO

Catch up and read yesterday's post for part one!

My new body was here, like it or not. I had 2 (TWO!) babies to prove it, in case the stretch marks on my belly weren't evidence enough. And as the days of post-partum crept onward, my body mimicked the roller coaster of an adolescent. Healing this, sagging that, tightening muscles, loosening aches, it seemed like every aspect of my being was in a tug-of-war with something. Granted, both my babies were born via c-section after two very long labors...so, perhaps in your own experience this process of healing was not as drawn out or dramatic. Still, every new mother observes unexpected changes they couldn't possibly predict. The books might help tell me when my milk will come in or when my c-section scar will heal...but, it never told me that my buns would flatten down to a short-stack of pancakes and my belly would take on a new "spongy" quality that I still haven't quite found the right adjective to describe. Hmm. Yes, this would take some getting used to.

Let me tell you, I'm only about seven months post-partum, and I still take great comfort in my undereye concealer and my full-body Spanx. My new appreciation for my body is greatly "in progress" indeed. We all have our beauty secrets (well, maybe not a secret anymore!) and those things that help boost our confidence. Let me be clear, this blog post in body-thankfulness is not to say Adios! to those items and get all "you-go-girl" on you in saying that we don't ever need anything else to help us get through the day without feeling like a hot mess. No. Instead - by all means - embrace those things that help you feel confident and beautiful. Just don't be fooled by them.

That is to say - I know that my Spanx and concealer are fooling you into thinking I actually fit into my jeans without a wrinkle in my belly. Good. They should. That's why I bought them. And I hope my undereye concealer is telling you that my baby slept peacefully through the night and I didn't actually wake up every hour and have to remind myself that I love her (I really do) despite her wailing in my ear and clawing at my chest. Whew. But - I know the truth - the dark circles and muffin top that exists! - and am thankful for it. (goshdarnit)

Here is the truth: Pregnancy was what it took for me to gain a whole new appreciation for my body. For me to, probably for the first time, genuinely be thankful for it. It's funny that while my belly became the largest it EVER would, I suddenly felt a sense of gratitude for it - and not just for the baby it held, but for the actual skin and tissue that made up me and allowed me to experience this magnificent moment in time (twice!). After all my belly and I have been through together - after holding these amazing babies and keeping them safe and growing them so well - to then look in the mirror and see anything but an amazing creation would just seem - well, ungrateful. To insult my body now would be a total betrayal to everything I had just given thanks for.

There is a difference between being thankful for your body, loving it well...and exploiting your flaws. I'm not here to say "yay for sagging boobs after breastfeeding - therefore who cares about wearing a bra!" You see? (Please, wear the bra.) I'm not going to say it is realistic to think that cellulite will be trending anytime soon or that society will all of a sudden embrace bedhead as a new hairstyle (though some hipsters might). Instead, I'm here to say - STOP focusing on the flaws and take SIGHT of all your body offers...all God created you to be.

It is widely accepted and known that when a man looks in the mirror he sees his best characteristic - while women look in the mirror the first thing they notice is their flaws (many of which are totally unrealized by those around them, I might add!) How frustrating is this? And, what would life be like if we changed it?

So - let's change it. Look at yourself in the mirror. Go ahead - look - I'll wait here for you.

It felt a little silly, didn't it? Sure. But, try it again and this time be purposeful - be thankful. Don't look at yourself and be judgmental in any way. Don't even pick out something you like. Pick out something you are THANKFUL for. Don't say "I guess I like my eyes" or "My lips are a good feature", that is fleeting and will only last as long as your lipstick. (You know I'm right).

Instead - look at yourself and find a new amazing function you never noticed before. "Hey good lookin, way to have a nose that smells how good fresh basil is!" That a girl. "Thank you, God, for making my teeth a little crooked so I can chew my food just so AND have a memorable smile at the same time." Now you're getting the hang of it.

This is the start of change. Don't try to go from dislike to like...try to go from dislike to thankfulness. It's a much easier step, and it will be necessary to get you where you want to go...like, love, and then LETTING GO of the obsession all together. That's right. The ultimate goal here isn't to love myself and keep up the self-talk. The main idea isn't to have a positive "tape player" running in my head for all eternity. The finish line (which, honestly, may not even be totally attainable this side of heaven) is to find contentment in letting go of viewing ourselves at all. To turn the tape player off for good. (Did I just blow your mind a little bit?)

Stop the obsession. Replace it with gratitude. Find freedom. Think of others instead.

I'm a big believer that the road to love is paved with appreciation, that thankfulness is the first step towards respect, and that gratitude is the ultimate compass for compassion. This may sound very "Oprah-esque", but gratefulness simply diffuses negative thoughts, toxic memories, and lies the enemy may tempt you with.

In almost any hurtful situation or conflict, if I approach it with prayer to change my hardened heart to be thankful, that is where true change starts for me. This is the difference between praying "God, help me like my chubby waist" and "God, thank you for making my body, for creating it just as you designed". This prayer might not take inches off your belt - but, I will tell you that once you begin to appreciate what you see, you will inevitably want to take good care of it as well. For me, this applies to not only my body, but just about anything in my life! If I'm grateful for it, I'm going to take better care of it.

Soon your thankfulness will turn into full-blown LIKE for your body. And that like will blossom into love, one futile flaw at a time. And before you know it, you'll look yourself in the mirror, gushing over how gorgeous you look in those new jeans (Spanx or NOT) and your husband will walk by and wonder what that new quality is that is making you so sexy. And no, it's not the shape of your legs...it's called confidence.

I know this sounds ideal. I know this sounds as outlandish as that new diet where that infomercial promises you'll lose all your baby weight in two weeks by eating donuts. I know it might seem silly to practice "self talk" when I already think this world is too hung up on "self" all together. And that's exactly right.

As I said earlier, the ultimate goal is to eventually not need any "self talk"! And when we start to see ourselves as we truly are: beautiful, broken and covered in grace, forgiven and fully restored, useful and loved... Then the need to remind ourselves of the truth diminishes. Soon, we just live in the truth...confident of our Creator...and seeing our best feature, our new found freedom, when we look at ourselves in the mirror.

I'm not saying it's easy. But it is somewhere to start. By eliminating the angst for myself, my body, my outside...guess what? I'm finding all kinds of freedom I never expected. Freedom to look at others' needs. Freedom to show my daughters a mother who is confident. Freedom to not need approval from others. Freedom to not fill myself up with things I don't need. Freedom to seek the unselfish life.

Who knew that my own body could be used as a tool to look beyond myself?

Thanks, God.

Body of Evidence: PART ONE

Last fall, I wrote a post that touched on a topic that is out of the comfort zone for many: weight. I had reached my pre-pregnancy weight and I wasn't about to apologize for it. Way back then, I promised to someday approach this subject again, ready to put out there an honest look at how pregnancy effects our bodies - inside and out - and the way we look and feel about them pre/post-baby. Well, welcome to someday. Here we go.

I've decided to divide this up into 2 posts, in fact, with no coincidence that the second part will fall on a Thankful Friday.

Pre-baby body issues: Well, to put it lightly, I wasn't always a fan of my body.

I know, shocker, right? I mean, I am a girl! I certainly had my issues with this angle or that, with jeans I couldn't squeeze into or obsessing that my tummy would never be bikini ready. I, like many, would compare myself to supermodels, friends, that sexy waitress at my favorite restaurant, that lady in front of me in line at the grocery store...yep, just about everyone. I could tell you without fail exactly what I had eaten that day, that week, and probably what everyone else around me had consumed as well. I would go through periods of thinking I was cute (did that guy at Chipotle wink at me and give me extra salsa, or was it just me?) only to be followed up by self-loathing post-burrito-consumption. I would cycle in and out of wanting to work-out, wanting to perfect myself, and then plummet miserably into self-destruction that was sugar-coated, peanut-butter-dipped, and drenched in a hot chocolate sauce of self-deprecation.

When I met my husband, I thought I had surely pulled one of the grandest schemes ever known to humankind. I had fooled the best of them and this gorgeous, tall, dark and handsome fellow was head over heels for me...surely his vision was off? But, as I got to know him, I fell deeply in love with his most charming characteristic: his sincerity. So, when he would look into my eyes and tell me how beautiful I was, I had a choice to make: either I was falling in love with a psychopathic liar...or, he was telling the truth. I distinctly remember choosing to believe him. Making a conscious choice that I wasn't going to marry and idiot or someone with terrible taste. I was going to marry someone who was in love with a beautiful girl...me.

It didn't stop there. I didn't make that choice and magically like my thighs. I didn't click my heels three times and somehow see a supermodel in the mirror staring back at me. I would still fish for compliments, put myself down, and cringe at the thought of my husband's rose-colored glasses coming off when he looked at me. It was probably sometime shortly after we were married when, on a day when I was particularly down on myself, Josh had finally had enough. Not enough of me (which is what I had set myself up to anticipate) but enough of my insulting myself. Enough. Done. NO LONGER ALLOWED.

What? That's right. I was no longer allowed to put myself down. Ever. He hated it, it made me feel bad, it wasn't true...the list of reasons to stop was much lengthier than any argument I could conjure up. So, that was that. And right then and there I, for the truly first time ever, began to change how I thought about my body. He loved it. I loved him. Therefore, I really need to get over myself.

I had allowed these negative self-image thoughts to consume a whole part of my brain that could be used for so much more. It was clearly futile to spend one more second coming up with reasons to make myself feel bad. It wasted energy and time and was stealing more than my attention: it was stealing my dignity. And Josh wasn't implying that I should even believe him or that I should start to see myself through his eyes. (Though, the honest compliments of an encouraging mate are like salve to a mangled self-image.) No, it was only the grace of God that would be able to heal my wounds, my self-inflicted scars left from years of insults to myself.

By the time we were ready to start a family, I had come a long, long way from where I began. The "tape player" in my head had nearly done a one-eighty and I was excited to see myself

pregnant soon. But, "soon" didn't happen as soon as I wanted. Month after month would go by with a negative pregnancy test. My body seemed to be failing me and I was left again with a hatred in my heart for a body that wouldn't be what I wanted it to be. It is easy to sit back and tell a wanting-to-get-pregnant woman that it isn't her "fault", that there is nothing she can really "do" but relax. But, when you are desperate to feel a baby growing inside of you and everyone else around you seems to be popping out bumps by merely winking at their husbands....well, there is just no talking down that woman from the ledge. I once told Josh that not becoming pregnant month after month was like going to a job interview every two weeks that I knew I was overly-qualified for, only to find out two weeks later that someone else had gotten the job without even applying. It was discouraging to say the least.

Finally, somewhere between a miracle and month 11, we were pregnant. Not without fear, either. The same day we got the positive test, I also had severe and unexplained bleeding and we also wound up in the ER. It was a few scary weeks later that I finally was able to take some deep breaths and, despite the nausea, relax in the confirmed joy that we were, indeed, going to have a baby.

A baby! Wow. As the saying goes, everything changes when you have a baby. Certainly not the least of these changes go on right inside your own body! While we have shelves FULL of books today telling us what to "expect" throughout pregnancy, I don't think there is really anything you can do to prepare yourself for the actual changes you are going to see your body go through.

It's called a miracle for a reason, I suppose. Because, how my belly didn't actually explode is seriously beyond me. And, with my first pregnancy, though my waistline grew a good 17+ inches, I didn't get one stretch mark (keep reading! I promise you won't hate me by the end!) I had maintained a reasonable weight gain and had a healthy baby, and with the help of breastfeeding and quality Spanx, I was on my way to a "normal" body again. In fact, it wasn't until my 38th WEEK with my second daughter this last summer that my belly had finally taken all it could...and I woke up with stretch marks. Literally, I went to sleep with a seamless belly and woke up looking like I had been attacked by a werewolf. At 38 weeks!? Are you kidding me? And this is when it truly, honest-to-goodness hit me: my body would never be the same.

Obviously, I had known this for a while "in my head".

Every mother says it - how they now have that muffin-top or those sagging breasts, or how their children "stole their beauty" from them, etc. I knew that pregnancy and childbirth would bring change - but, I had just recently come to terms with my pre-pregnancy body...how was I supposed to know how to love this new skin I found myself in?

Weeks after Daphne's arrival, I found myself studying my new skin. (That's right - I saw myself naked - you should try it once in a while!) Instead of cringing or shying away from what I saw, I decided to just observe, just look as if I was a doctor or a good friend to that soul in the mirror - taking in the temple that had just been used as a vessel for one of God's new creations. This being - this flesh - it housed a human.

And in closer examination of these ripples in my skin...

I began to see these stretch marks in a whole new light:

I wanted to remember this moment. I wanted to lock it into my memory that I am standing here, naked and unashamed of myself - proud in fact, that God chose me to undergo such an ordeal. How can I carry this feeling with me? How can I remember that God took what I had once called "gross", "fat", "ugly" and blessed it with such perfect function?

And in closer examination of these ripples in my skin, the "blemish" of them faded away and I began to see these stretch marks in a whole new light. These were not scars...they were symbols. They were memories of what I could endure, what I would sacrifice freely, what I would do all over again at any moment for the babies God had given me. I had a new perspective. A new body, stricken with the evidence of God's goodness.

My brain's "tape player" was about to change once more...

(come back for part TWO tomorrow!)

Weighty

If I was a celebrity, the news of the week would be that I finally hit my pre-pregnancy weight this week, two and a half months after Daphne's birth. But, since I'm not a celebrity (whew!) I can shout from the rooftops that it is a freaking miracle for me to already say I hit that beautiful number on the scale so soon. Honestly, it took me by surprise, and I can only credit my giant daughter who breastfeeds non-stop for the accomplishment. And don't think I don't thank the Lord for Spanx every day also. (I'm not even joking).

But, don't hate me so fast. And stop rolling your eyes.

The truth of the matter is that I gained some weight RIGHT before getting pregnant - so it is a bit easier for me to exclaim this truth sooner (sneaky, I know!) So, I'm not at my "goal" weight - just my pre-pregnancy weight. And let's face it - usually we all have a "goal" weight that is somewhere between unrealistic and a hot fudge brownie...and that brownie almost always wins (darnit).

I know what you're thinking..."Emily, who cares?" I get it. If you are female, if you have kids or not, chances are good that you are either trying to maintain your weight or trying to lose weight, or at the very least praying that the pumpkin spice latte you had this morning won't stick to your thighs the way it stuck to your blouse when you spilled it on your way into work this morning. Am I at least a little bit right? We all think about our weight. And it totally sucks.

Let me see if I can peg you down even further. (We are in this together now, so hang on.)

Weight is a very personal and touchy subject. (duh) It has most likely fluctuated over the years for most of you, and we all commiserate in the fact that it will continue to ebb and flow as we get older. (Sigh).

We all have a couple friends in our lives who absolutely can eat anything they want (is she scarfing down another bag of Cheetos? and is that regular Coke?) and never gain an ounce, and we pride ourselves in the fact that we don't claw their eyes out every time we see them cause we are just so gosh darn jealous of their stupid metabolism.

We cringe at the sight of those ridiculous skinny jeans - the ones that are obviously meant for toddlers and not grown women - and wonder what the statute of limitations is on that belly band still at the top of our underwear drawer just in case we're having a "bloatish" day.

We are almost always in the mood to shop for shoes or jewelry, because, frankly, they won't make us want to strangle the retail associate in the store after we try them on.

And, we love to watch makeover shows because we never ever look nearly as bad as the "before" and we truly believe somewhere deep inside that we could absolutely pull off the "after" if someone would just watch my kid for a good three hours so I could dig out that curling iron from underneath the bathroom sink somewhere among the 8 bottles of firming lotion that promised me a new rear end (and lied).

So yeah - it gets touchy when some chick who just reached her pre-pregnancy weight has the gall to blog about it and open up a cavern of insecurity among those who may or may not be turning her picture into a dartboard right now. (What is she trying to say? Get to the freaking point, blog girl.)

Ah yes, my point. This could be a post all about how kindness comes in all sizes and so do we - so let's all get along and if you can't say anything nice...then shop online, I guess. But, it's not. Honestly. Because like it or not, in reality, we aren't at all concerned about whether so-n-so fits into her jeans from high school or not. We couldn't care less what who's-her-face ate for lunch. And we don't have the time to listen to what's-her-butt go on and on about how she is giving up sugar for the zillionth time. We are all far to concerned about our own selves! It's nice to get compliments from others, sure, but it's worth so much more to actually believe them...and (dare I say it?) compliment ourselves.

Pat yourself on the back. Go ahead. (Really, no one's looking, do it.) You are average - and awesome. Tada! But, don't take my word for it, take your own. Chances are, you are smaller than some people you know, and larger than others. Some people consider you skinny, others might think that skirt you're wearing is doing you no favors (heyyyy! sorry.) And truth be told, almost no one who looks at you can tell the difference between your "good looking" days and your "shlumpy" days...but you. See - nice and average! Hooray!

I may be delightfully surprised to have reached this pre-pregnancy weight before I thought I would - who knows, maybe I kept low expectations so I could celebrate more easily. (I'll be writing more in the future about body image and how our views shift through pregnancy and childbirth, by the way.) And as much as I strive to stay realistic, balanced, and happy - I'm not immune to the lies that if I don't look a certain way I won't be "good enough". So - I have to vaccinate myself against those lies. Counteract them with truth, relating to others, and simply believe that my worth is not found in an unattainable stack of size 6 jeans at the GAP.

We got flu shots this weekend. (Warning: obvious analogy ahead.) And just like I don't want to get the flu, so I get the vaccine - I don't want to slip into the all-consuming thought process of watching numbers on a scale go up and down and up and up and down (and so on) each week, quietly judging myself between meals and outfits. UGH. What a waste of mental energy. That is so "1997" for me - and I'm in my thirties now (thank you very much) and I'm just not into the whole self-loathing bit anymore. But you can't just take a shot of truth and suddenly feel great about yourself all the time. Maybe not. I'll admit it is a life-long process for myself and for most of us gals out there.

So, in the meantime - of us all learning how to love ourselves and our imperfect bodies - let's take the time to believe one compliment someone tells us this week. C'mon - someone is going to compliment you on something this week. Believe them. And here's one for starters...my, you read that blog so well and didn't throw one thing at the screen when she talked about her weight - good for you! :)

Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?