I lay back gingerly as the chiropractor pummeled the tension out of the tendons and muscles of my lower legs. With gritted teeth we made small talk, and I tried not to think about how large my legs probably look smashed down on the table. As if reading my thoughts, he said offhand “…yeah and when we fix your knees and ankles, hopefully you can work off some of that baby fat.”

Ouch.

I meant what he was doing to my leg, but the comment hurt too.

I brushed it off as awkward old man stuff, he didn’t mean anything by it.

Until 2 weeks later when he made almost the same exact comment.

“…well, at least you’re still breastfeeding, that’ll help with that baby fat.”

Ok, now I’m offended and quite frankly pissed off.

And lets get something straight, this is not baby fat.

Baby fat is the soft, stretchy stuff on your belly that shows that you once carried a human who grew to the size of a watermelon. Baby fat is the stuff that collects around your upper arms and on your bra line because your boobs are so big. Baby fat is the padding around your hips and upper legs to cushion the blow of birthing a human. This, what we have here, is not baby fat.

This is “It’s Christmas and I have a new baby so we are going to binge watch “New Girl” and “This Is Us” and eat bag after bag of Dove Chocolate” fat. This is “I ate alot of pizza when I was pregnant” fat, this is also “I stress eat sometimes because having a newborn is hard” fat. There is a difference, and lets not pretend that these pounds just shed themselves.

Because the truth is, I am a work in progress, and I am allowed to be.

I want to be perfect every moment, at every little thing that demands something of me. I want to be well rested, Eric to get to sleep in, Seb to be happy, myself to be able to work extra but be home all the time, say yes to play dates but have enough down time. I want to workout every day and cook only the best, healthiest things, but also stay in my budget. I want it all.

And you know what? I do try. I workout before Seb wakes up, sometimes at 5am. I workout with him crawling on my back. I go for a run on weekend mornings when all I want to do is lay in bed and make Eric get up with Seb. I spend my days off from work trying to simultaneously play with Seb, keep him from eating cardboard (a losing battle), cook a veggie and protein based, dairy free egg free meal that is within the budget and also enough for lunches.

I’m a work in progress.

I also recently started putting sugar in my coffee, which is a habit I need to kick, and the other day I cried and ate Dairy Queen as a meal.

I’m allowed to not be perfect.

The important thing is the effort. I want to be energized for Seb. I want to be confident in jeans and a tank top and go on a date with my husband. I want my body to be it’s amazing, beating, thriving, explosively vibrant self.

My very wise sister Christina once said that when you say “yes” to one thing, you’re always saying “no” to something else. I cannot in fact have it all, and I’m learning to not only deal with that, but to make peace with it. A life where I try and do everything all at once is a life in which I do 10 things poorly.

So some days the way I am called to love my family is to remove myself from them to run off some stress. Some days it’s skipping my workout because Seb is crabby and needs to be held. Some days it’s salad, some days it’s really freaking amazing straight- from- Italy pasta from Costco.

Yeah, I have baby fat, and pre-baby fat and post-baby fat and s*** I need to work on, but my cute as a button baby recently learned how to yell “MOOOOOM”, so I’m doing pretty alright.

 

-Maureen