We took our first official family portraits yesterday, and little boy showed OUT. Everything he could've done, he did. Fussed, cried, threw up, pooped...it was a true test of parental fortitude. But once we got a look at the pictures, you could scarcely tell that the shots were taken between bouts of tantrums and regurgitation clean up. Exhibit A above. He looks like a calm, cute little suspendered angel.
In the end, I was happy with our pictures. I still have tons of thank you cards to write and perhaps people will overlook the tardiness if I enclose a picture of the little guy.
Sometimes I still can't believe it. I'm married (coming up on three years next month), and have a child. I don't know if it's quite registered with me yet. I don't know what it will take to register that this is my life. In addition to daughter, sister, friend, wife, and professional, I have officially added "mother" to the facets of who I am. I guess I'm still figuring out what that means.
Every time I hit a milestone, I have this thought or expectation, even, that I'll feel differently. That I'll be a different, better, more secure version of myself. Once I got married. Once I finished my PhD. Once I got a tenure-track job. Once I had a child. But what has proven itself time and time again is the fact that I will always be me. The same me that I've always been. Nothing external will ever make me feel ultimately validated or confident or competent or like an adult.
Three months out, I'm still not where I want to be weight wise. I know it will continue to take time. Regardless, I have to come to terms with my new body. Even if I did accomplish the feat of getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight, my body still wouldn't be the same as it was before. I thought getting up at ungodly hours to nurse a hungry baby would be the hardest thing, but that part wasn't as bad as I anticipated. The hardest thing by far has been coming to terms with my postpartum body.
I'm grateful for a loving husband who cherishes me as I am. I trust him enough to believe that he means it when he tells me that I'm beautiful. I read these horrible little mommy message boards that are connected to the baby/pregnancy apps that I'd downloaded, and some of the women vent about their significant others saying some off the chain things to them about their bodies. I'm sitting there reading that stuff doing a whole lot of smh-ing, not fathoming how these chicks are not karate chopping these dudes in the throat. Entitled, insensitive little sexist jerkfaces. Ugh. Jesus I'll never forget what you done for me. For real.
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