Hot tears trickled down my cheeks. I tried my best to stay quiet and keep some semblance of composure, but I felt Wesley's eyes on me. I looked down and sure enough, he stared up at me with a look of concern on his face.
As if he were looking beyond my eyes and into my soul, he reached up for my hand and let out his own soft, cooing sob as a gesture to what I was feeling and expressing. Of course, the tears really spouted out of my face after that.
Why was I crying? There are a few reasons, I suppose.
Lately I've been in the doldrums. I am pretty sure my hormones are on a raging rollercoaster ride, and it probably has something to do with my thyroid. Either way, I just have a lot of feelings. I suppose that comes with transition, and we've gone through a huge change within the the last few months of moving and Matt working from home. I usually welcome change, but perhaps having kids caused me to grow roots, which were recently torn out and now yearn to be grounded once again. Unfortunately, that process requires only time. (Cue the Enya and rain beating against a dreary window.)
Can I tell you something else that I am ashamed to admit, but I am going to throw it out there anyway? I am having some serious body image issues right now. I know, I know, I went all guns out on my soapbox when I wrote this post on the very subject, but it's been almost a year since I gave birth to Wes and things aren't sucking back in as easily as they once did. It probably has something to do with the fact that I see myself in photos all the time on this blog and I am creating unnecessary insecurities about myself. I also find myself comparing my body to when I was 17, and I've ingrained it into my mind that that my adolescent body is the goal weight and look to achieve. I know it's not healthy or realistic, but it's where my current state of mind dwells, and I am working to fix all of this nonsense circulating in my brain.
Do I still love my body's abilities and how it has blessed me with wonderful, healthy children? I do completely. Perhaps it sounds foolish and vain to be complaining about my stomach that looks terminally three months pregnant (which is not, for the record) and a more plump backside and thighs, but I think those issues may hold a deeper meaning. Maybe I am feeling a bit out of control and seeking for a way to gain back my sense of control in my currently unstable inner turmoil. (Whatever that is.)
I don't know. All of this leads me to a very important story and message, though.
Three years ago at my baby shower for Luke, a friend gave me the best words of advice in regard to motherhood. She stared me in the eyes with a gentle, but firm gaze and instructed me, "Give yourself a year." She then went on to explain that things would feel crazy and look different more so than I had ever experienced, and to constantly remind myself that since it takes almost a year to grow a human, it would take equal time to feel back to my normal self.
Those four words may seem basic and small, but they've been my biggest champions in times when I feel plain lousy. (Like right now.) So, I am now reminding myself of that truly golden advice. Wes isn't a year just yet, and things are still adjusting. Besides, it's my time to focus on a healthy lifestyle, not a skinny one — and to remember there's a big difference the two.
Sometimes it just helps to write it all out, clear and hard, no sugarcoating or keeping appearances. This isn't a plea for validation, this is me being real and working on coming to terms with my own weaknesses. And maybe, just maybe, one of you out there will need to hear these words, too.
Thanks for coming back time and time again to read my blog. I value my friendship with all of you, even if it is only through the glare of a glossy screen. Much love to you all, and here's to the silver linings when the going gets tough.