Let's Get Physical

I don’t remember how much I weighed before the boys. I don’t remember what size I was. But I do remember caring about those things a lot more. Even in between Henry and Sullivan. When clothes didn’t fit right and my body felt less than half mine. But having more of a life, an identity, outside of them reminds me I am a separate person. And I’m able to see my body as the thing that created them and held them and feeds them.

Pregnancy was life-changing for me. Not in the ways it is for everyone - the whole, duh, now you have a child and of course life changes ways. But for someone who was insanely skinny and tall and felt out of place and not particularly attractive and disconnected from the body I didn’t fully understand - pregnancy grounded me. It renewed my awe and trust of nature. Being a part of something so much bigger than myself (which, if you’ve seen my pregnancy photos, I was not small :)). That I didn’t have to read books or take classes or even totally understand what was happening in there, but my body knew. And it would go on autopilot if I spazzed out. If I didn’t eat perfectly for breastfeeding, it would still take what the baby needs. That was and continues to be comforting for me. I try to take myself and my body a little less seriously.

So, my body and I have reached a peace.

My exercise consists of

• living in a three-story house where bed, food and tv are on different floors
• working in a building on a downtown street where I park half a block away and walk to eat
• walking down the dirt road with my parents, dogs and sons listening to Henry name the birds
• nursing Sullivan in bed and the living room and pumping twice a day in my office
• picking up Henry in a near primal hug when I get home from work and he looks like such a grown boy, often only wearing underwear
• chasing after Sullivan as he realizes, although he can't get his knees to crawl with him, he can drag his body to any exposed cord or dog or coveted toy of Henry's that will cause a brother battle
  
• dancing to the radio with Henry and Sullivan on the weekends after pancakes with my family around me, all in pajamas.

My dressing consists of

• finding shades and shapes and patterns that remind me I’m creative and colorful
• nursing bras underneath sweaters with zippers, shirts with buttons or dresses that can be peeled back for easy access
• dangly earrings that tinkle or jangle to a subtle soundtrack when I walk
• scarves with sequins or stripes or polka dots or bold, loud colors that peek out of jackets or hang on sweaters like adult equivalents of twirly straws
• wackadoodle socks hidden under winter boots which are eagerly transitioning to bare feet in comfortable, red sandals and tweed, brown flats.

My eating consists of

• finally enjoying broccoli
• keeping a snack drawer at work which I replenish on weekly visits to the Trader Joe’s in Portland, typing while chewing ½ salt almonds, fruit strips, Cuties tangerines, and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies
• frozen Stouffer's’ lasagna and Trader Joes’ macaroni & cheese lunches which my coworkers make fun of me for loving Stouffers best even after living in Italy
• salad bar salads from Hannaford’s that mimic the one item I like from Wendy’s menu with cranberries, nuts, bleu cheese and chicken
• delicious dinners made by my husband and shared with my family at the table every night: tacos and stews and pasta and chicken parm and conversations about our days.