Place: My midwife’s office. First postnatal appointment: seven weeks postpartum.
Me: I’m still de-swelling right? (Please say yes, please say yes…)
Midwife: It took 10 months to make him. I tell everyone it takes at least that long to get your body back…but then again, you’ll never really get your body back-back, as it was pre-pregnancy.(Wide, apologetic smile.)
Me: But this lower patch of stomach fat isn’t really fat-fat? It’s my body still de-swelling from birth, right? (Please say yes.)
Midwife: Well, no.
Me: And these red stretch marks that all of a sudden showed up post-pregnancy (how is that even possible, anyway?), they will go away, right?
Midwife: Not necessarily. But lets not focus on how your body looks right now…how do you feel?
How do I feel? Like I want to curl up in the fetal position and cry. Like I want to snap a finger and have my old body back. Yes, I know I need to be kind to myself, let time do its thing and appreciate the miracle my body just created…blah, blah. But I underestimated the frustration I’d feel toward my post-baby body. And for the love of God, Kate Middleton is not helping the situation!
Neither are the people who tell me that they lost all the baby weight by breastfeeding. I want to scream, Do you have any idea how many hours a day my son has a boob stuffed in his mouth? How are your pre-pregnancy jeans baggy?!
Still, I smile and nod that I feel alright, muttering an obscure fact I swear I just read: the fat-burning properties from breastfeeding kick into high gear between three and six months. I know I read that. Don’t ask me where I read it, I’ve actually only seen it written one time. But I cling to that piece of information like a dog that’s developed an unhealthy fascination with his owner’s leg. It is my Holy Grail.
But my midwife has other post-partum facts to share. I watch in a trance as the words “diastasis “ and “separating abdominal muscles” spill out of her mouth.
“But I breastfeed on demand!” I proclaim. “I gained just 35 pounds my entire pregnancy!” I cry. “I got a prenatal personal trainer at 30 weeks pregnant…who even does that?” I shriek.
You see, I felt amazing being pregnant. I received compliments in direct proportion to my growing bump: the more I couldn’t see my feet, the more the world showered me with praise. “You’re glowing!” they’d say. I was that annoying (adorable) woman who only gained weight in the tummy and didn’t look pregnant from behind. That was me! I was that girl!!! At five months pregnant, I got asked out on a date by someone who graduated college in 2011, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t fall into his fetish wheelhouse. Pregnancy just agreed with me, and I was more surprised than anyone.
So call me naive, call me misinformed–I just figured my body would snap right back into place. Okay, maybe it would take a few weeks. After all, even Princess Kate had a postpartum bump. But my first postnatal appointment confirmed my secret fears: my body at seven weeks postpartum was here to stay, unless I sprang into action. Like get-my-body-into-a-plank- position-immediately kind of action.
Why didn’t anyone tell me it was going to be like this? That two months after giving birth I would still be no closer to properly buttoning my jeans than I was on the day after I delivered? I feel duped. For some reason, I thought I’d Heidi Klum it right back into my clothes. Yes, I know she’s a supermodel and has pressing deadlines, but I assumed because I took such good care of myself during pregnancy, I would be equally rewarded.
So here I am with my new body and a lot of work ahead of me. Oh, and did I mention that every time I break into a light jog or sneeze, I pee? Yes, pee. I mean, come on! But I digress.
I should probably wrap this up with some thoughts on how I look at my son and take consolation in my circumstances. That every iota of stretch and sag is worth it (and, really, it is). But there’s a part of me that still yearns for the me I was before I had a baby—in body and a bit in spirit, too.
When I was pregnant, there was so much excitement and every pound gained was publicly celebrated. I knew the outcome at the end of those 10 months (yes, it’s really 10 months that you’re pregnant) would be my beautiful son. But things are different now–my body being the most obvious reminder. And while I don’t necessarily agree with my midwife’s opinion that my body will never go back to the way it was, my life certainly will never go back to the way it was pre-pregnancy. It’s not a bad thing, but just like my body, my new normal is going to take some working out.
Patrice Poltzer works in TV production and lives in Brooklyn with her British husband and baby boy. She had a natural birth by sheer fact that it almost took place in a cab and feels a little bad her son will probably have a crass American accent like his mom. In the spirit of clichés, she enjoys trying out all the fabulous restaurants in Brooklyn. However, these days she doesn’t hunt for happy hour specials as much as she does establishments that will be happy with her whipping out her boobs to breastfeed.
