I bumped into a friend the other day while buying lunch. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time, and the first thing he told me was, “Ang laki mo na.” (“You’re so big now.”)
Knowing this friend’s personality, the first thing that came to my mind was it was likely a good-natured tease, period.
The second thing that came to my mind was well, that still doesn’t excuse the asshole-ery of his offhand comment. My body is not open to your snap judgments, fuck you very much. Skipped the day your mom taught you manners, hmm?
(Clearly I was hangry and at my peak inner bitch. I’m sorry – this was before I had lunch.)
As you can tell from an earlier post, I’m still in the process of losing the post pregnancy weight and then some, with a goal of ideally losing some 10kg total.
This isn’t easy with diastasis recti (working on it) and a tendency to snack (working on this too).
That said, I’m also in the process of accepting that while I’m trying my best to get my belly back in its original shape, I may fail. And that’s okay. It won’t be the end of the world.
To mamas out there in a similar space as me, here are a few things you can do to either a) get you out of your funk or b) inspire you to go WORK that indoor bike.
1. EMPOWER YOURSELF with professional runner Stephanie Rothstein Bruce’s Instagram, where she posts inspirational snaps of her running and rocking a sports bra – as well as her own diastasis recti experience. One look at her training photos for the Rio Olympics and boom, I find the energy to do a quick 30-Day Shred video at 11pm on a weeknight after a full day at work.
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#7weekspostpartum I can stick 3 fingers in between my 2 ab walls. But it's not about ascetics it's about functionality. Here you go for those who have been curious and asked about my Diastasis Recti: "My abs are separated contemplating divorce" blog up on my website. Link in profile. #journeywithsteph
Bottom line, Flap, I’m tired of your shit. Nobody warned me you’d show up, and you damn well weren’t invited. But here you are, hanging loose like a freeloading basement-dweller on his mama’s couch. I can’t seem to exercise you away, and the guilt trip doesn’t appear to be working, so I guess I’m just going to have to keep searching the racks for extra-long shirts and try to accept your existence—for now. But you’d better believe that if I ever come across a windfall of cash, I’ll go straight from the bank to the nearest plastic surgery center where you’ll be swiftly and mercilessly evicted.
This is what I saw in those marks on her belly: I am her baby. I was her sleepless nights. I was her heartburn. I was her breathlessness and inability to find a comfortable position in bed. I was her wish for the last four weeks to just get here already. And then, there we were — a lifetime of joy and support and struggle and bond and laughs and cries. And she would soon be taking my marks with her.
To any woman considering procreation, I encourage you to accept your averageness. If your hair wasn’t thick and shiny before the epic hormonal shift of pregnancy, it won’t be any more so on the other side. If you’ve never had the type of breasts that mocked gravity with only a thin layer of cotton between them and the world, you won’t be shocked to find you still need a bra after producing (and extracting) approximately 224 gallons of milk.Let it all go, and marvel at the gifts your body has given you. Because you’re about to become a mother. Your body will do what you need it to. There’s nothing average about that.
He gave me a kiss. “Love it.”