Josh was feeding Bailey and Trixie in the dining room, I was in the kitchen making food for us.
Josh (to me): Fuck, honey, I forgot to put the raisins--
Trixie: Don't say "fuck," Daddy.
Cori (laughing too hard to speak): ... ... ...
Trixie: I'm telling Mama.
Maybe you've missed it, the blog going 'round the mom-space these days: Shape of a Mother. Go check it out. (I'm not linking so as to avoid search engines for as long as possible).
It's a pretty amazing place where women post pictures of their post-partum bodies and tell their stories about how they feel about what pregnancy did to their bodies. I came away from the site thrilled and relieved beyond all measure. I'm normal! I've been dealing with some nasty body-esteem issues lately, as I round the 9-months postpartum bend, and it was very helpful to see other soft, jiggly, stretch-marked bellies.
I tried to make a promise to myself not to beat myself up about my body, its pp squishyness, its overall weight and flab, because it has just done this amazing thing: It made two whole people in the space of three years!
And as one is not allowed to diet seriously while nursing, there is nothing I can do about it but try to eat healthily and get to my weekly karate class. I would give anything to be able to run in the mornings again, but I just don't see that happening until the kids sleep better, even if I could find a running partner.
But it's hard to be in a holding pattern; until we wean Bailey, until they're both sleeping well, until I can find a running partner.
The irony is of course, that many people have complimented me on my improved (ie, not pregnant!) figure, from the daycare teachers to co-workers. So I'm not some hideous lump. I'm just not the best I can be. And the only person who cares about that is me.