Stress can be an unexpected catalyst for change, and in my case, it led to accidental weight loss. Somehow, I’ve managed to drop three-quarters of the 10 pounds I aimed to shed. I’ve jokingly told friends that if this stress continues for just another two and a half pounds, I’ll reach my goal weight.
And it’s true—my clothes are fitting better; some are even too loose. I recently squeezed myself into my proverbial “skinny jeans,” the pair I bought just two days before my wedding when I was at my slimmest—thanks to stress. When I called a close friend to share my excitement, her response was, “I know! You’re getting married in two days!” to which I replied, “Oh, that too. But I just scored a pair of jeans in a size 26!” Her enthusiastic reply? “Wow, that is exciting.”
However, my body isn’t the same as it was a decade ago when those jeans fit me perfectly. This morning, as I stood in our bathroom with my husband, I remarked, “This is not how my body looked at this weight.”
At 37, I’ve experienced two C-sections spaced just 16 months apart, followed by a hysterectomy. After my two children—both of whom were average-sized but seemed to enjoy a swim in the pool of amniotic fluid—I was left with a belly that resembled a deflated balloon.
To keep a positive spin on my midsection, I’ve dubbed the area between my bra and underwear my “bonus features.” You know, like when you buy a DVD and find an extra disc with behind-the-scenes footage—you didn’t ask for it, but it comes with the package. Such is the case with my midsection; these “features” arrived courtesy of my kids, no extra charge.
But I can’t help but wonder, shouldn’t excess weight disappear when I slim down? Shouldn’t there be some reduction in those love handles? Shouldn’t I look a bit less like I’m trying to sneak a donut under my shirt? Apparently not. In our chat this morning, my husband noted the changes, suggesting that my weight might just be “distributed differently now” and that I look beautiful. But let’s be real; he’s obligated to say that.
All I could see was my middle-aged middle. Over the years, I’ve made half-hearted attempts to target this area. Though I’m not a workout enthusiast, I once tried a post-pregnancy Tracy Anderson DVD that a friend lent me. My husband, within earshot, couldn’t suppress a snort when Tracy mentioned, “Once you’re cleared by your doctor after six weeks, you can start this workout.” Our youngest was about 3 years and 6 weeks at that point.
Is this it? The peak of my physique? The bikini days are over, and belly-baring shirts are off the table. My midriff as it is seems like it’s here to stay. And I’m a bit annoyed, honestly. I feel somewhat cheated. But there are perks to these “bonus features”—they’re 5 and 6 years old, and well worth the saggy skin. (At least I think my backside still looks pretty good.)
This article was originally published on May 16, 2013.
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In summary, navigating midlife motherhood comes with its own set of challenges, particularly when it comes to body image and self-acceptance. Embracing the changes while appreciating the joys of motherhood is key to finding balance in this transformative phase of life.
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