On Loving My Postpartum Self

No one reeeeally talks about it. The 4th trimester - the ups and downs, laughter and tears,
joy and insanity of it all. One day you are swimming in a sea of warm, squishy, newborn baby bliss
and the next you aren't letting anyone IN or OUT of your house because they are either going to
contract ebola and give it to your infant or lead a serial killer right into your living room.

People have been so kind and ask me how I'm doing and all, but I lean more towards "fine"
rather than dive right on into the fun facts of anxiety, stitches, breast engorgement, and the
whole achy, throbby - "I am falling out of myself" feeling. You following me?! TMI. I know.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

It was just this past Sunday. I had just put on one of my favorite dresses to go to church.
I was totally having a party in my head; celebrating the fact that...

A.) it fits
B.) I don't look so "lumpy" in it after all

An hour later I walked into the bathroom in a completely different outfit and my husband asked,
"Why did you change?" Well, let's see. When I put it on I had just breastfed the baby and
was looking decent in that department. Given time, milk reproduces, and I was totally channeling
Dolly Parton. Not for Church. Not for Jesus. I laughed it off. No big deal - I'd rather breastfeed
my baby than wear my favorite dress. Perspective, right? That's REALLY how I'm doing.

A couple weeks ago our 3 year old totally climbed into our bed in the middle of the night. Nathan
and I were both so exhausted that we just let him stay - unaware really. Long story long --
he peed on my husband, all over our sheets, comforter, feather tick. I woke up to *freaking out*,
lights turned on, and drama in our en suite bathroom. ARE YOU KIIIIIIDDING ME?!

I motioned to Nathan to GET OUT and turn the lights off before, God help me, the
baby that was just wide awake from 2-4AM wakes up AGAIN. I stripped the bed and marched
straight to the living room to tell my husband that this was ALL his fault and that
he could just sleep with said 3 year old - IN THE OTHER ROOM. For real.

Y'all, postpartum Brittany is cray cray. The next morning my husband let me sleep in
til 9AM and the first words out of my mouth were, "I AM SO SORRY. That baby. I was tired."

And then there is my body. I don't keep a scale in my house on purpose. Numbers don't matter.
It's all about FEELING good and being COMFORTABLE in your skin. That being said, I had to
promise myself that I would NOT step on the scale at my CHILD's 2 week check-up.

Yea, I broke that promise and had to pep talk to myself the whole way home. "20 more pounds
to pre-baby weight?! You've got this." And just to make sure that I was thoroughly beaten up,
I went home and tried on all my non-maternity pants. Why why why?!

*bangs head against the wall*

I look down at my stomach and see DARK stretch marks this time - a straight line running down
my abdomen that looks even darker and more foreboding when I bend over. Weird, but I notice these
things... and I am sure MY HUSBAND DOES TOO and probably DOES NOT WANT ME ANYMORE?!?!??!

CUE: explosion of tears when he walks in the door from work. He wants to know what's wrong and
asks, "is this postpartum-ness?" Oh no he didn't. That's the post-baby equivalent of asking,
"are you PMS-ing?" NO. No, it's NOT. Yeeeeeessssss... yes, it is.

For the record, my husband DOES still want me. Phew. So that's good. Seriously though, so
THANKFUL for his covering and affirmation. He sees my post partum body very differently than
I see it - giving grace, love, and understanding - where it TRULY IS DESERVED!


I just had a BABY. A 10 and a half pound baby. I gained 50 pounds to bring such BEAUTY
into our lives. My body was stretched and pushed to the very limits to bring LIFE - a human
being (that still blows my mind!) - a breathing representation of the love my husband and I
share - and it is SO GOOD. So so good.

Despite the postpartum party going on over here, I AM finding it easier to be KIND to myself
this time around, to lower my expectations, and have grace on my brain, body, and those around me.
I'm laughing more and crying less. I am learning to LOVE myself in this season.

The other night I was laying in bed doing some spine stretches and deep breathing when my
husband walked in to give me a foot massage (SPOILED. I know.). I looked at him, feeling completely
humbled, and said, "You've seen my body do CRAZY things - with having babies and all."
(I mean, the guy has seen my intestines. I haven't even seen my intestines!) He laughed and agreed,

"It's pretty amazing actually."

"YEA IT IS! Too bad YOUR body doesn't do anything cool like that!"

*fist pumping mothers everywhere*

Motherhood is wildly beautiful, my friends. It bends and breaks us - strangely building us
up into stronger women. Pregnancy. Postpartum. I'd do it again and again to know this JOY
of loving and raising tiny humans -- the ones so intricately stitched together by the God
Who knew us all before there was time.


I'm going to go put a sweet potato in the oven now. For lunch. 20 pounds, remember?!
But you can bet I'll probably eat a Reese's peanut butter cup while I do it -- because GRACE, right?!
My body has been through a lot. It deserves it.

My Husband Gave Me a Modesty Lecture

"Your dress is a little revealing," my husband stated in the most monotone, obviously
not impressed, voice ever.

"What does that even mean?" I shot back a tad defensively. I suddenly felt on the insecure
side of it all; trapped in a car, on the way to church, with no way to change or alter the outfit.

He apparently saw something that I didn't see.

"I'm pregnant and married. And pregnant. Nobody cares, babe."

"You can think what you like, but that's not true. I care," he gently shared.

"Are you giving me a modesty lecture?!"


Oh man, he's serious. Immediately my mind races to the fact that I am 28 weeks pregnant
and bursting out of all my clothing in EVERY direction. He's lucky I didn't erupt in tears
right then and there just focusing on the fact that my body is "not normal", and clothes that
I typically wear with a size A bra, most likely from the junior's department, suddenly don't
look so "modest" anymore. I chose to play devil's advocate. Because I'm feisty like that.

"What? So I'm my brother's keeper or something holy like that?"

Before I knew it, bible verses were swinging, analogies were flying, and I found myself
passionately declaring: "I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANOTHER PERSON'S SIN!"

Like for real. That came out of my mouth.

"So I can't drink alcohol because someone might be an alcoholic? I can't eat cake because someone
might be a glutton? I can't go shopping with a friend because they might be a thief. I can't wear
*this or that* because someone might struggle with lust? Sin is just waiting to happen.
EVERYWHERE."

Seriously, there's a very hormonal, 16 year old girl trapped somewhere inside my body.

The idea of having to think through every situation, outfit, is absolutely overwhelming to me;
positively scrupulous, slightly on the fundamentalist side of things with a dash of puritanism.

For me, modesty is not about the rules and regulations. I've never thought of it that way,
and I never will. I've met girls who live by the "2 inch" tank top and "finger tip length" shorts
law. That's just not me. But you know what, if that's their thing, all the power to them.

Because I truly believe that modesty is a matter of the HEART.
And it's a two-way street, brothers and sisters... a two-way street.

And I feel like there are two dominating strains of thought in this country:

1.) the body, sex, anything closely related is TABOO

2.) the body, sex, anything closely related should be EXPLOITED

No happy medium. It's either just "bad" or made "worse" by glorifying all the wrong things.

The body was created GOOD. So very good. Genesis 1:31. After "the fall", most obviously seen
in our present day and age, is the distortion of what was created GOOD - all things being bent and
twisted. Pleasurable, but not necessarily honorable. Desirable, but not necessarily properly ordered.

Break it down for me, Church:

"Modesty protects the mystery of persons and their love. It encourages patience and moderation
in loving relationships; it requires that the conditions for the definitive giving and commitment
of man and woman to one another be fulfilled. Modesty is decency. It inspires one's choice of
clothing. It keeps silence or reserve where there is evident risk of unhealthy curiosity.
It is discreet." - Catechism of the Catholic Church 2522

"Teaching modesty to children and adolescents means
awakening in them respect for the human person."
- Catechism of the Catholic Church 2524

Respect for the human person. And this is why I think that modesty is a matter of the heart -
falling as a responsibility (let's say: "loving honor" - because it sounds less dutiful and more
of what it should be) on both the shoulders of men and women alike. I mean if we get it?!
If we get that our OWN BODIES are something precious, awesome, holy, creation-good -
along with the bodies of all those around us - then won't we EXUDE that respect
that the Church is talking about?

So I take it back. Blame it on pregnant hormones. I DO think we are our brother's keeper.
But remember that two-way street? Men are just as responsible to be keepers of their sisters.

"Because we transcend the physical world - being created in the image of God - we are all
capable of forming this kind of deep communion with our fellow human beings. It is part of what
makes us distinctively human. Living in community, we form bonds and help each other. We live for
each other's sake - not just our own." - Torode

I'm sorry if you were hoping I was going to dish out some juicy details about a husband who turned
the car around to drive home and make his wife change! It's not like that. It's more like:
"Hey, I love you, did you think about that dress you put on this morning?"
- sister's keeper, people.

At the end of the day, when I wash the make-up off my face and crumple into bed, I am not thinking
about how short my shorts were or how tight my tank top - I guess I'm examining my heart.

Do I see the GOODNESS in my own body? The people around me?
Do I know that I am loved? And that others deserve love too?
Do I feel respected? Did I show respect to others?

How did that play out, NOT ONLY in the way I dressed myself today,
but in my words and actions too?

The heart. What we do and say, how we act and dress - such a powerful reflection of what's going
on underneath it all - of what's being believed, bought, and sold below the skin, deep inside the
soul. We are all a beautiful mess, aren't we? Let's "keep" ourselves and encourage others, as a
loving honor, to express the goodness that lies within.

"Modesty is always beautiful." - G.K. Chesterton


_________________________________________
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The Girls with the Fake Eyelashes

When I was in junior high, I used to curl my bangs. Like a perfect, little roll -
straight across my forehead - held in place with one too many squirts of hair spray.
It was so bad that a friend who knew me only from college once stated: "Man, you really
grew into your cuteness!" when a picture of the "turd" bangs was viewed.

And the truth is, people MADE FUN of me here and there or would try and stick
objects in my rolled bangs. I did not care. I mean, I thought about it all -
and obviously took some of it to heart... as I'm blogging about it centuries later,
but it didn't make me change anything. Partly because I was stubborn.
Mostly because I had enough confidence to sink a ship.

It's funny the things we remember; the things we allow to tattoo themselves upon our hearts.
I like to think that I'm STRONGER than I am. Woman of steel. Hear me roar. Knock me or my friends,
and I'll knock you back. Part truth, part facade - due to the deadly combination of being
"oldest born" and choleric.

"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."
-Proverbs 18:21
"You are fluffy." || age 8

"You have caterpillar eyebrows." || age 15

Words that were spoken over me by people who will not be named.
Why did these words stick while others just rolled like water off a duck's back?

I see so many expressions of discontent and inadequacy on the faces of women everywhere.
She looks down, she looks away, she wishes, she watches, she tries, fails, gives up...
Someone cover her?
Anyone?

I love how so very often on social media girl #1 will post a picture of herself and then
girl #2 through #4872 comments:

"Your hair! Tell me all your secrets!"

"Your make-up... I must know what you are wearing!"

"You're gorgeous. Give me your hair."

And so on and so forth until it becomes downright redundant and slightly ridiculous.

More often than not, girl #1 comes clean and tells her fan club that her golden locks
are mostly extensions and that no mascara on planet earth can beat the va-va-voom
of fake eyelashes, that she all but admits to wearing.

Images, ideas, words - a social media whirlwind that sweeps up your average girl
and spins a web of LIES concerning what TRUE BEAUTY is, should be, better be, or else...

no one may like you, want you, or see you.

We are HARD on ourselves as women. Naturally drawing things "within" ourselves -
holding all the details and memories like a bowl of spaghetti in our brains.

Drop the spaghetti and "be your own kind of beautiful" today and always?!


Not every girl out there has the COURAGE,
but I want you to look at the face, the hair, the body God gave you in the mirror
right now and KNOW, know so well, that every detail is NOT lost on your Maker.

And I am applauding, standing ovation kind of thing, the gift of beauty you have
been given. No one has your exact combination of skin tone, bone structure,
hair + eye color, nose + lip size... so go tell the social media, advertising agencies
all about THAT fact.

Encourage, embellish, define, highlight, FRAME the beauty of YOU today.
And share the (( heart )) of this message with someone else - cover them with me?



XO