Body Feelings.

I have developed some very mixed feelings about my body. It's a phenomenon I've noticed in the first few months following each of the birth-givings.  I have a great number of feelings about my body that can best be described as "mixed". Or maybe... Vacillating. Clinically freaking bizarre and insane. Really, any of those will work. 

You see, Body and I have recently been through a lot together. We spent the last year making a whole person and then depositing him onto a table. And every part of that hurt. Like, bunches and bunches. But we survived it, Body and I, and we came through the other end, albeit much the worse for wear.    

I'm proud of Body because it survived. I'm proud of Body because it not only managed to produce a whole person, but said person is becoming quite the little chunk. All thanks to Body. You go, Body. 

The baby says he is sleepy, but would really like to stay up very very late, if it's all the same to me. It is not. 

But besides the whole "check out the amazing life-giving things Body can do", there are other reasons why I'm pleased as punch with my current state.

I can see my toes. 

I can touch my toes. 

I can sit on the couch with my feet beneath me and my knees pulled up against my torso. 

I can sit pretty much anyway that appeals to me. 

I can lie on my stomach. Praise the good Lord in heaven, I can lie on my stomach. 

When I hug my husband, it no longer feels like a weird shoulder hug, wherein my behind is shoved out half way to Nevada. 

I can breath. And, as it turns out, it's not even that hard. 

I no longer require a bottle of tums on my bedside table. 

And to top it off, I can even wear my wedding rings some days. 

This list is great. This list makes me feel strong and lithe and sexy and, well, human again. Of course, there's the other end of my swinging pendulum of feelings, and that side has its own, less encouraging list. 

I cannot fit in clothes. 

No really. I cannot fit in any clothes. 

My muffin top looks like it was never fully baked, so now it's starting to droop. 

Stretch marks have found new and exciting places to live. I think I may need skin replacement surgery. 

I started out this pregnancy just under 140. These days I'm stuck at around 170. That is a bigger number than I like and it makes me sad. 

Even though I don't always "see" the chubby chick version of myself in the mirror, I've seen some very convincing photographs to remind me that she is here. 

My back hurts. Kind of a lot. And I feel too heavy and out of shape to move properly. Harrumph. 

And I am sleepy. Always. 

So those are all my feelings. Each one is life-alteringly intense, I assure you.  And unfortunately, Brain is no help either. Because I can never quite decide: do I love and accept myself for who I am today, just relax and go with it? Or do I hate my body every day until I see some real changes?  Both opinions have their merits, but I can never quite decide which to choose. 

For the time being though, I'm doing my best to ignore all of it. Diet starts on January 2, when all the company and fatty food are gone, and enough time has passed to allow me to engage in some mild to moderate exercise. I hope. 

So for now, you'll have to pardon my sweatshirts and yoga pants. A thorough examination of my closest only served to remind me that I'd thrown out all of my jeans larger than size 8, and I am now too fat for my fat pants. Sigh. 

Have a wonderful last few days of 2013, folks, and remember: the diets start NEXT year. And what happens in 2013 totally doesn't count. G'night!