Hitting your pre-baby weight doesn’t mean anything
After the birth of my son, I spent a lot of time thinking about how I was going to get back into the clothes I was wearing and the activities I was doing pre-pregnancy.
Throughout my pregnancy, people I knew and people who randomly approached me on the street often commented on how small or big I looked. It was fun at first. A way to feel the outside joy of my pregnancy. Over time though, and especially in that third trimester, it became something I enjoyed less and less. I didn’t care to answer the person who asked me if I was having twins because I looked so big or to engage with the one who said I was definitely having a boy because I looked “good” and was carrying small.
Over time I realized, the second you start to “show” as a pregnant person, you are subject to comments about your size. Where it would be taboo to tell someone it looked like they had a big burrito for lunch, it somehow becomes acceptable when that burrito is a human. And, while most comments probably come from a place of good intention, commenting on appearance or size - pregnant or not - reinforces the idea that appearance or size is the most important thing about someone.
Now, imagine hearing it multiple times a day for 6+ months. Then top it off with delivering a baby, add a little sleep deprivation and breastfeeding hanger and sprinkle in a whole lot of trying to keep a human alive and guess which thoughts show up front and center? If you guessed size and appearance, you’re spot on.
In recovering from the birth of my son, I didn’t think about the importance of my actual recovery or what my body was telling me, instead I...
Felt constantly guilty that I “should” be recovered and exercising despite being EXHAUSTED trying to recover mentally and physically from giving birth.
Overanalyzed why so many people commented on my appearance during pregancy but didn’t say anything after (“do I look that bad?” I thought)
Was afraid to stop breastfeeding for fear that the weight I had lost would return, despite having an incredibly challenging time with it (hi, three rounds of mastitis…)
Focused on the fact that I was still wearing pregnancy clothes.
Could still feel “pulling” from the inside tissues of my c-section and could hardly physically touch the outside scar.
Couldn’t feel my lower core. at. all. (and to be honest, this just started to return nearly two years later).
I’ve thought a lot about this as I’ve watched my body change over the last two years since my son was born and even more as I’ve started to focus more on appreciating it for what it did (grow a freaking human!) and how it has recovered. It’s still hard though when society is stuck on appearance. So, for the mamas out there, remember:
Weight gain is a normal part of pregnancy.
There is no set timeframe for recovery. Whether it be 6 months or 30 years, once postpartum, always postpartum (and this includes pregnancies that don’t result in birth).
A number on a scale and a comment from someone else aren’t indications of your worth, nor how recovered you are (or should be) from what you experienced.
It’s OK if your body feels like a completely new body post-pregnancy (and it’s normal if that feels frustrating and hard to manage).
It will not be this way forever. Give yourself grace and pay attention to how you actually feel.
And for everyone else, here are some easy suggestions for what to say to a pregnant person that focus on the person and not what they look like:
“I’m so excited for you.”
“You’re doing great, Mama!”
“How are you feeling?”
“Is there anything I can do to help you?”
If you’re still not sure I have found a good rule of thumb to be: if you wouldn’t say it to a non-pregnant person, it probably doesn’t need to be said.
