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.

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.

Eat Your Heart Out

Thankful Friday is here! As January came to a close this week, so did something else. I completed a "challenge" I set out for our family. A challenge that I've kept relatively silent about because, frankly, I was genuinely unsure if I could complete it...and, well, I didn't want to fail with an audience. But, I'm proud to now report that I absolutely went the entire month of January without eating out or ordering in ONCE...not even a cup of coffee! So, this week, I am really thankful that my mom taught me how to cook!

Remember when eating out was a treat? Well, it was for our family at least! Maybe it wouldn't have been that way today, but when I was growing up on the farm, eating out was simply not an option in our daily life. We lived 9 miles from the closest gallon of milk, let alone a restaurant. And there wasn't even a McDonald's in the town 17 miles away from us until I was in high school. Nope, for the most part, if it wasn't in our pantry or growing out back, well you were out of luck, my friend. There was no temptation of a drive-thru simply because you hadn't planned ahead what would be for supper that night. Sure, there might be the occasional casserole-ala-experiment for

dinner...but, for the most part, my mom cooked up a mighty fine spread each and every night. And each and every night, all of us got around the table and ate together as a family. It wasn't unusual. It wasn't a rarity. I'm sure it wasn't effortless, but it never seemed like my parents had to stop and force themselves to make sure this was something that got on the calendar. It was part of our life: Supper's on. Come and get it.

This is something I've always desired for my own family. Dinner time. Togetherness. Meals shared, leading to conversations that vary in color as much as the vegetables. I'll admit I'm not the best at it. As a self-admitted TV-a-holic, it is often easier and more entertaining to prop up the tray tables, hand out the paper plates, and all face in one direction while we stuff ourselves in the much-welcomed moment of self-indulgence. No focus. No thought. Just pure, tasty entertainment fed straight to my brain with a side of extra mashed potatoes into my mouth. Maybe it's not Norman Rockwell, but if we were all being honest here, it's what the modern American family looks like today.

As a resurgence of simplicity and nostalgia seems to be sweeping the next generation of young families, I, too, have found a longing to put down the iPhone, pick up a recipe book, and get my hands dirty with some real, old fashioned, unprocessed life. So, I'm starting with small things. Like yeast. Did you know that to make your own French bread is just flour and yeast and a little salt? Did you know you can actually make your own English muffins? And they are delicious! And did you know that most food from scratch is cheaper and tastes better than the store-bought-found-in-a-pretty-able-to-microwave-box? It's true!

Not going out to eat for an entire 31 days was not easy. I had to plan ahead. I had to plan ahead everything. I had to make sure the pantry was stocked with some good staples. And I had to know how to use those staples and to make a meal out of just about anything that was there - or be willing to go to the store to get it (which, with two kids in tow, is basically not worth it for last minute needs). I got to be inventive. I got to be experimental. I got to make some unpalatable failures and some scrumptious successes. It took less money and more time. It was messy and there was a lot of dishes. And it was a lot of fun.

Not to mention, there was an added bonus of unexpectedly losing 4 lbs while eating at home?! It's true! And, sure, I didn't sit around eating Fritos and BonBons...but, I did eat homemade cookie dough, and chocolate croissants, and about an entire loaf of French bread in one sitting. Sure, I am nursing and chasing a toddler around (I don't call Matilda my personal trainer for nothing). But, I can't stress to you how much I was not even trying to lose any weight, literally eating whatever I wanted, and the only change I made to my lifestyle was not eating out at all. So, take that for what it's worth - but, I honestly feel like it has a lot to do with taking a step back from overprocessed junk and embracing some hearty whole foods (like my friend, stick-of-butter!)

Will this stick? Am I giving up restaurants for good? Certainly NOT! My goodness, I'm far too much a lover of food to not enjoy the fruits of another chef. I love going out to eat. I love the experience of sharing food and time with others. I love the gamble of trying something I would never have the confidence to dare cooking at home. I love the convenience of not cleaning up after the meal. And sometimes we are just thankful for that Chic-Fil-A on the corner that will hand me my giant Diet Coke and waffle fries without judgment that I'm splitting them with my 2 year old in the back seat. I am by no means swearing off the joys of dining out.

But, thanks to my mom, I'm not forced to dine out. It can be the exception. My mom, who couldn't cook a hot dog before she married my dad (true story), taught herself the ins and outs of many-a-recipe book...and passed it on to me. She took the time. She let me messily stir the muffin batter. She let me burn the meat loaf. She ate my concoctions. She smiled and asked for seconds when even the dog wouldn't lick the bowl. And today...I'm a pretty awesome cook (thank you very much) and Matilda is a total terror to my kitchen...and it's wonderful.

Maybe I'm no Barefoot Contessa (but, I'm watching you, Ina Garten). I find great joy that learning to cook is an inexhaustible art. I think it is one of the most invaluable skills you can learn. It literally pays for itself in multiple ways: in cost...in the joy it brings to others...in the experience...in the pride...in the time it promotes being with the ones you love, either in the kitchen or around the table. And those are things you just can't order off a menu.

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?