Body Image

I love my mom-bod. I have embraced the extra skin, the ridiculous amount of pounds I gained during pregnancy, the huge breasts that now nourish my child, the scar across my lower abdomen. I am strong enough to ignore society's pressure that I "bounce back", like pregnancy is this huge trampoline of fat. I am a woman, I am a mother, and I think I look more beautiful then ever since having my baby, even though I had a six-pack before pregnancy. Fuck the patriarchy!

NOT!

Maybe it was my upbringing: I grew up in Rio de Janeiro. And, yes, the legends are true. Walk down Ipanema Beach, and you'll ask yourself: how are there this many model-looking non-models? In Rio, everyone goes to the gym. If you're average looking and 10lb overweight, sorry, you can go be average in other cities.

I don't think that's cool. It made me grow up with a complex. I never thought I looked good. I would always SWEAR that everyone was pointing at my wide hips at the beach.

And, yet, before getting pregnant, whenever I looked at my pictures of a few years ago, I couldn't believe how amazing I looked, but failed to see it at the time. This led me to an epiphany: this would always happen. "Now" would some day be "a few years back". In the future, I would have the same thought of my current self. So I made a promise to myself that I would always appreciate my body.

I have not made good on that promise.

I went to Macy's today. It was a one-day-sale, and my mother and my mother-in-law, in town from Los Angeles, wanted to go.

We walked around a bit. I felt a funk approaching. Should I buy clothing for my now-body? Or for my future body? Would I ever have a future body, or was this it? I then saw this beautiful dress. Ralph Lauren, perfect cut, good price. I took it off the rack, confident it's wrap design would allow me to feel good in clothing sized Medium.

I was wrong. My arms barely fit the sleeves, and the dress wouldn't close around my chest.

I left it on the rack and walked out, where my mother and my daughter were waiting.

I was fighting tears.

As soon as I sat next to my mother, I lost that fight. The word "meltdown" is appropriate. There I was, a mother, being consoled and hugged by my mother, in public, as I cried sad, sad tears.

I know how neurotic and silly this sounds. I want to be hot again. For myself, for my husband. Sue me. I know that a lot of this comes from a sexist society, that has crazy expectations as far as our bodies. I know I succumbed to that pressure, and I'll make sure to protect my daughter from that pressure more than my mother protected me.

A few minutes after my very public meltdown, I met up with my husband and mother-in-law. As I waited for them to pay, a lovely sales representative came to drool over my baby. I don't blame her, my baby is very cute and very droolable over.

"She's yours?"

"Yes."

"She's so cute! How old?""

"Five weeks".

"Five weeks? You had her five weeks ago? You look amazing!"

"Ok, who paid you to say that?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Thank you. That means a lot to me."

I felt the tears coming again, so did whatever normal thirty year old who has a breakdown in Macy's over a dress while pushing the stroller in which she carries her baby: I pretended to cough to justify the red eyes and tears.

"Oh, this weather always gets to me."

I took the dress home. It will serve as inspiration. As soon as Doc clears me, I'm back in the gym. Of course, my priority is keeping healthy. I have a baby whom I feed with my body. But hopefully, that body will be back to (at least most of) its former glory.

And for those who think my priorities are out of order, I have three words: I don't care.

And for those who think I'm naïve, that I'll never be able to shed those pounds, I have two words for you: Soul Cycle.

Actually, it might me one word. SoulCycle.

I should check.