I’m just gonna say it:
I’m struggling with the postpartum bod.
It comes in waves.
Moments when I watch my daughter sleeping or playing or delicately trying to eat a clump of dog hair off of the couch, I am filled with awe at what my body has created and brought into the world.
She is a precious miracle. An absolute blessing. It truly boggles the mind, doesn’t it?
And then in many other moments that occur at more frequent intervals throughout the day, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and wonder when upper arm cellulite became a thing.
…Or when all of the varicose veins from pregnancy will finally fade (Never, right? The answer is never).
…Or when my back will stop feeling like a stretched rubber band, ready to snap.
…Or when people will stop asking me when the baby is due, despite the fact that I am currently holding a baby.
When? WHEN WILL IT STOP?
(Never, right? The answer is never.)
I missed the old me. The old me, who, yes, still had cellulite but could at least wear pants with a zipper.
It was time to bring fitness back.
