baby maker

This is the only picture I have of my beautiful pregnant belly. And the only time it's been shared.

A good friend of mine recently found out she is pregnant with her first baby. I am so happy for her and her husband and it got me thinking, rather fondly, about when I was pregnant. Which brought me full-circle to an email conversation I had with a LDBFF (shout out to Amber in CA) about weight.

If you've known me for at least five minutes, you know that being a mother is all I've ever wanted to do. It's something I am proud of and eager to share. Yes, it is the most fun, most rewarding job I have ever had. No, I do not get bored. EVER. Seriously. It is my dream. Understand this. There is one part of this dream that took me by a pleasant surprise and that's losing the baby weight. Where do I start...

I'll try to get to the point like Joey has taught me to do. I have a sorted history with weight gain and loss. My weight tends to fluctuate very easily. In fact, I thought my weight fluctuated more than anyone else I had known, until I married Joey. That boy can gain and lose anywhere from 4 to 8 pounds in a single day. No lie. Anyway, I am 5 foot 7 inches. Normal. Mom has always been obsessed (you have, don't argue) with nutrition, calories, fat grams, weight loss, fat burn, you name it. Needless to say, it is somewhat ingrained in me. When I was in high school, playing volleyball, I was in the best shape of my life. Maybe slightly on the skinny side, which made my nose look bigger (Once after looking at a high school photo of me early in our relationship, Joey asked if I'd had a nose job. Sure.) When high school ended and the real fun began at The Loveliest Village (insert sarcasm), I put on weight like it was my job. Do to stereotypical circumstances, I blew up from a measly 130 to a hefty 190, pushing 200. And fast. We're talking skinny fall 2001, chunky fall 2002. No kidding.

The actual times get a little fuzzy here, but I think it was the end of my sophomore year that I went to some weight loss place with a friend and was flabbergasted when they told me my actual weight. I scooped my jaw up off the floor and marched to the car, more determined than I had ever been to return to my high school jeans. I had recently moved back home with Mom and knew I had a chance living under her low-cal roof. I joined a gym and hit the ground running...or waddling.

My enthusiasm didn't last a long time. I was still going to Auburn on the weekends, first to visit my best friend Jessica, then to see Joey. My weight wasn't exactly dropping like I hoped, but I wasn't gaining anymore either. And I was in love. December my Junior year, Joey took a job that took him to Panama City Beach. The following summer, I went to stay with him for a few months and met Angie (the same Angie mentioned frequently in these pages.) Perky, out-going, tan, girl-ripped, slightly physically intimidating, but insta-friend. I guess I complained to Angie enough that she decided to do something about my weight for me. She showed up to get me every morning at 7 a.m., whether I wanted her to or not, and we walked 4 miles. Every day. Soon enough, I started to care more about what I was eating and the weight began to fall. I moved back to Birmingham with Mom again and continued to lose more and more weight until I was down to about 140. The closest I had been to high school since I graduated.

I was still walking miles and miles a day and eating healthier than ever before. I enrolled in UAB to finish school. Mom got remarried and moved to Auburn. I moved in with Dad, went to school full time and worked part time. Joey and I got engaged in May, married in September. At our wedding, I was still between 140 and 145, a solid size 8, healthy, happy, in great shape and loving life. Marriage brought with it a few pounds of its own for both of us, so we joined a nearby gym and got back to fighting shape again.

I started working at the salon, eating salon chocolate and drinking salon coffee and crept back up about 10 pounds. During the year that it took me to get pregnant, I was desperately trying to lose 30 pounds so that I wouldn't look like a bad food allergy reaction throughout my pregnancy. Needless to say, that didn't happen and I ended up gaining a hearty 50+ pounds over the course of nine months. What's weird is that I didn't feel all that big. I felt great. I loved being pregnant. (You could've guessed that, right?)

I was on the path to motherhood and no amount of nausea or swelling was going to rain on my parade. I remember feeling sorry for women that got huge while they were pregnant and grateful that I was not one of them. Ha. I loved my body in spite of itself. I was carrying my child. Every time he moved, my heart skipped a beat. Every hiccup made me smile. I would sit for hours with my hand on my belly so I could feel him from the inside and out. I was growing a life and I was in awe. And then it got even better.

I never quite topped 200 pounds before Waylon was born. 199 was the closest I got. I had plans for how I would lose all that weight. I recruited Kyle to come up with a plan for me. This was serious. It was going to be long and hard, but it had to be done and a.s.a.p.

I labored for 14 1/2 hours, pushed for 2 1/2 and delivered (to our surprise) a healthy, beautiful baby boy. It took weeks to recover (more on that some other time) and breastfeeding was not the bliss I expected it to be, which ended with me pumping for 5 months and nursing from 5 months to present day. After Waylon was born, my weight was the last thing on my mind. I guess you push that baby out and feel lighter and skinnier by default. Due to breastfeeding, which burns crazy calories, and considering the fact that I was producing enough milk for twins, I began to see my weight fall. Fast.

Today, almost 10 months later, I have still not dieted, only eaten healthy and have started preliminary training for a marathon coming up in February. I have gotten back down to my 140, size 6, sometimes 8 and could not be happier. But, I could not really care less either. I'm pretty certain that I could be a size 12 and be just as content. I'll tell you why...

I have never, ever been more in awe of my body. It did and continues to do amazing things. I grew a person and am making milk that keeps him alive. Absolutely blows my mind. The love and appreciation I have for my body now is like none I have ever had before. I hope it never goes away. (Considering the fact that I will be making and feeding babies for the next 7+ years, I don't expect it to. If it does, and we're still talking, please remind me to read this blog.) I am so grateful that I am a woman, that I am privileged to experience all of this. I am so sorry that Joey will never get to feel any of our children inside him, living and moving. I can only try to describe it to him.

I am so grateful for God's immaculate, detailed orchestration that brings every life into being from the moment of conception and for His grace that our own little life was carried and brought to this world healthy and safe. By the same grace, I will carry more lives in my own amazing body and by the same grace, they too will come to this world in the same way. I am grateful every time I sit down to nurse Waylon that this amazing thing is happening. It is beautiful and sweet and not to be taken for granted.

I have tried every diet I have ever heard of. I used to write reminders on my own hand to eat less, work out more. I have lived on bananas and coffee for weeks. And I am so sorry now. I am so sorry for all the unhealthy, selfish decisions I made that put my body at risk. I have seen what it can do, what it was made to do, and am struck with wonder. It truly is a temple.

And I can't wait to be pregnant again.