I had been happily married for 3 years and my husband and I decided it was time to expand our family. At the time my husband was the main active one in our quest for health. He got up every morning to play basketball at the gym of the local church.
Myself, I had always been fit and while I wasn’t skinny I didn’t really consider myself to be fat either. I played softball all my life, even through college and felt like I had things under control-but didn’t really do much besides the occasional bike ride.
I remember those few months of waiting for that pink line and I felt like I was trying to get in touch with my inner feminine side. See, I’d always been considered the tom boy-even for prom people joked that they couldn’t believe I was wearing heels-albeit LOW 1″ heels- instead of a pair of cleats. So I really couldn’t see pregnancy and becoming a MOM really feminin either. Believe me, the way I play tickle monster is NO JOKE. But this is NOT when the tale begins, it begins back at home with my parents and eating casseroles and meat and potatoes, grabbing pizza or fast food on my way to work all through highschool. I didn’t ever need to worry, I was active and it was never a problem. It is however, where the tale takes off.
I remember sitting on the couch requesting a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich, which my husband promptly made. Hmmm, thats odd-I REALLY want a PB&J, MAYBE I’m pregnant and my heart gave a flutter. Later that day I really wanted something sweet, so, thinking this was a craving and when pregnant you listen to what your body wants, I went to the pantry and pulled down some chocolate chip cookies I had made for a family member’s birthday party. And again later that night, I felt tired and unmotivated and so my husband dutifully went out to get ice cream. Later that week, we find out I am not yet pregnant and I’m was a little perplexed but shrugged it off.
Fast forward a few months and we see the pink line. And all of a sudden those little cravings were given full force explosive power-they were excused and even welcomed-I was eating for two! I had to make sure I got my calories and while I felt tired all the time, I blamed it solely on the pregnancy-not my disastrous eating habits.
I had a great pregnancy-easy as some would say. The delivery was rough though. And so was the recovery. After diagnosed with pneumonia, my 5 day old baby boy was admitted back into the hospital. So instead of rocking and singing and getting to know each others tendencies, my boy was stuck in wires, IVs and oxygen masks. And of course everyone brought food in sympathy.
I’m not blaming events or people-facts are facts and the fact is the first 4 months of my life with my new born were awful. I hated going out because everyone would say, oh he is SO precious isn’t motherhood great?! ”NO” I would scream into my head, we still hadn’t gotten a routine, nursing was NOT going well and I was exhausted. And I ate and ate and ate. And the worse I felt about my relationship with my son and then husband as well, the more I ate and then the more I ate the worse I felt. I was in a downward spiral.
Fast forward again to 2 years later and after finding my groove with working out, life got better and we were ready again to have another child. This time, I continued to work out. I ate what I knew was right for ME and what helped to make me feel better AFTER I was done-not things I WANTED because they tasted good. If I wanted sweets I reached for some fruit or used small portioned servings. I reached out to friends and family to support and keep me on track. Again, I had an “easy” pregnancy-such that my doctor gave me the okay to participate in a 5K with my sister just 15 days before I delivered…
My baby girl was born at 4am in the morning and I was anxious to get out of the hospital scene and start our life. Nursing was still hard and I was still exhausted, but I no longer turned to food for comfort. I turned to the scriptures and what little exercise I was allowed to do-walking up and down the stairs with my then 2 year old helped :0).
Life was so much more pleasant. At 6 weeks I was given the okay to workout, I eased into some programs, lost the baby fat in 6 months, in a year I ran a half marathon and I can only count 4 really bad hard rotten no good days. Life isn’t always peachy, there are moments of trial and frustration. But that is WAY different than the days upon weeks of anger, frustration and eventually depression that I experienced with my first one.
What was the difference? I think its the fact that I learned that I need to take care of myself. So often we are told we need to serve and help others. But it is much like the analogy of the airplane oxygen mask. You must put yours on first before you turn to help the person next to you. And to be honest, the little bit of ME time I hold sacred has made a world of difference in the QUALITY of time I spend with my family.
The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh
But that doesn’t mean the SELF has to die. Too many mothers throw themselves into the role and forget about their likes and dreams, their hobbies and talents. It is more important than ever to hold on to that-because if you loose that part of you, it is something you will never be able to SHARE with your little one later on.