The Battle of the Bulge

Six years ago I found myself getting ready for my ten year high school reunion.  I was nervous, almost terrified really.  I thought about what I would wear for a week.  In high school I was thin without trying.  A size two no matter what I ate!  Ten years later…well I would tell you my size but then I would have to kill you!  Besides the nerves and the terror I was embarrassed.  Embarrassed that I had not been preserved in some sort of time capsule only to be opened up at the exact moment in time.  I was grateful for one thing.  I was pregnant.  I was not grateful for the obvious reasons; the joy of carrying a life.  No.  I was grateful that I could use my pregnancy to blame the extra weight I had gained in the decade since I had seen my classmates.  Never mind that I was barely through my first trimester and could only blame a good ten pounds I had gained on being pregnant.  Ten years and what did I have to show for it?  About fifty pounds!  And then this past weekend I found myself getting ready for a mini reunion of sorts.  I noticed something different this time.

I did not worry about what I looked like at all. 

No, I hadn’t become a supermodel overnight and miraculously fit back into those size two skirts once again. I mean I have been working out a bit; I try to run and have been doing my best to live a healthier lifestyle. 

But I noticed something…

This body has seen the world in sixteen years. 

Can I blame the extra weight around my middle on being a very busy mom who sometimes gives up and eats mac and cheese for dinner?  No.  Not blame.  I can however reflect that this is the body that carried one of the most amazing human beings I know for nine months. 

These arms that are not as slim as the arms of eighteen year old me?  Well these are the arms of someone who has held people I love, rocked someone to sleep, hugged long lost friends. 

These shoulders are shoulders that have been there for people to cry on. 

These wrinkles around my eyes tell the story of a million laughs in sixteen years.

We need to stop beating ourselves up over what we look like.  Now I am not concerned about my extra weight as much as I am concerned about not having the stamina to keep up with a very active little boy.  I eat healthier not to starve myself, but to make better nutrition choices in the hopes that my son will follow suit. Will I lose weight by exercising and making better food choices?  Of course.  Am I going to labor over a scale and worry that it doesn’t show the same number it did sixteen years ago?  Not anymore.  Because sixteen years ago there was a whole world I didn’t have.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.