A month or two into my postpartum journey, I decided it was finally time to get some new jeans. I had been alternating two sweat suits for the past 7 months because I couldn't fit into anything else in my closet. I refused to cave and buy new clothes. "It seems like a waste of money since I don't plan on fitting into them after I have the baby" I would say to my husband. My pride was certain my body wouldn't change too much after growing an entire human.
Recalling it now, I think it was my husband who encouraged the shopping trip after hearing me complain one too many times about having nothing to wear. "You deserve to wear something that you feel good in, let's go get you some new jeans!". He was probably sick of seeing those sweat suits too, although he'd never say it.
So off we went, my husband, my baby and I, into town to get some new digs. I conceded my usual disgust for big box stores like Zara and decided to just get a few cheap pairs from there because just to reiterate THESE JEANS WILL NOT BE FITTING ME COME NEXT MONTH (okay or maybe the month after)!!!
Images of my years of modeling and having my agents take my measurements flashed through my head. Always having to stay within a range of lines on that tape measure.
I remember one week my waist was one centimeter bigger than the acceptable limit my agency had set for me. As punishment for being a naughty girl who ate one too many pizzas while I was living in Italy, my agency kept my pocket money for the week. (a models allowance that is used to buy groceries and basics). Next week if I hadn't lost the centimeter I wouldn't be getting it either. She also suggested I started smoking cigarettes because it would accentuate my cheekbones.
As soon as I got back to my apartment that day, I started the potato diet. I had heard on a podcast if you only ate plain potatoes for every meal you would lose weight really fast. If you were wondering, the diet did work and I got my pocket money back the following week. Cigarettes and potatoes.. YUM!
Anyways, I was no longer modeling but the voice inside my head had been my new agent for a while. It was always telling me I needed to look a certain way and fit into a certain set of arbitrary measurements.
When we went inside the store, my husband and baby scavenged one side of the store for the size I thought I would probably be now (1-2 sizes up HAH!) and I the other side. I went to the change room with 10 pairs of jeans in my arms and he went to go see if there was any other jeans we had missed.
This was the moment of truth. I slid the first pair of jeans over my legs and they wouldn't even fit over my thighs. No matter how hard I pulled, they didnt budge. "Okay don't panic, maybe these were made small..".
The next pair got over my thighs but when I tried to button them up the clasp wouldn't close. Not even close.
Sweat started beading down my temple. Panic slowly started to ensue.
The third pair were a black pair of high waisted jeans that flared slightly at the bottom. These HAD to fit.
But they didn't. Again the button wouldn't clasp no matter how hard I sucked in.
This was my official breaking point. None of these jeans were going to fit. I started to cry, coming to a realization that the image of myself I had always held in my head was no more. I can't be beautiful if i'm 4 sizes bigger can I?
I couldn't believe how much my body had grown. When I looked in the mirror I didn't think I had gained that much weight but seeing the number on the label of the pants and realizing I'd have to go 4 full sizes up from my pre pregnancy size felt like a kick in the stomach.
I sat on the stool in the Zara change room, wearing the pants that I could barely slip on, crying and feeling sorry for myself. Just as I sat down I heard the cries of a baby echoing through the change room. I peaked my head out of the change room to see a line of people waiting zig zagging around the corner and my husband passing by all of these women with a stack of jeans in one arm and our baby in the other.
"I'm sorry babe but he needs you" he said, as he squeezed behind the curtain in my change room and handed me our baby that needed a feeding. He noticed I had been crying and I broke down to him, telling him that none of these jeans were going to fit and how upset I was.
In the middle of my break down, we both heard a sound we knew all too well at this point. Our babies diaper exploding. We looked at each other and I just sighed. We both started laughing hysterically. There's nothing like a big old poop to shake you out of a spiral.
We tag teamed his diaper change on the floor of the change room.
Once that was done I continued feeding my beautiful baby. As I was feeding him my husband started to ask me a question.
Him: "What are you doing right now?"
Me: "Feeding our baby"
Him: "Why can't you fit into your jeans"
Me: "Because I had a baby"
Him: "Look at what you're doing right now. You can't fit into those jeans because you made this baby. You grew him and you're still doing that today. You made him. You're not unhealthy. You JUST had a baby. Give yourself some grace. Be kind to yourself. Look at what you're doing. Come back"
Leave it to my husband and a big poopy diaper to put things into perspective. And he was absolutely right. The reason I couldn't fit into my arbitrary, idealistic vision of what my body should look like wasn't because I was a bad person or lazy or whatever other destructive thoughts I was having about myself in that moment. It was because of the little life, covered in poop, on the change room floor. I made that (with the help of my husband of course). My body grew him , nourished him, was still nourishing him and protected him. My body did all of those things for him. So if I had to choose between my 4-pack and cellulite free thighs or this version of reality, I would choose the latter every time.
I'm not saying since this moment I have felt 100% confident with my body at all times. But the shift in perspective was a new tool I would carry with me till this day. Anytime I start to go into victim mode or feel not as confident as I would like about my body, I think of this day and my baby and all I have done for him since the first spark of his life. This brings me back to the present and shakes me out of feeling sorry for myself.
I will continue to work out, move my body and get strong but not for the aesthetics. For my baby boy so he can see his mother thrive. So his mother can pick him up and play with him. So we can adventure around the world together until i'm old and grey.
Recalling it now, I think it was my husband who encouraged the shopping trip after hearing me complain one too many times about having nothing to wear. "You deserve to wear something that you feel good in, let's go get you some new jeans!". He was probably sick of seeing those sweat suits too, although he'd never say it.
So off we went, my husband, my baby and I, into town to get some new digs. I conceded my usual disgust for big box stores like Zara and decided to just get a few cheap pairs from there because just to reiterate THESE JEANS WILL NOT BE FITTING ME COME NEXT MONTH (okay or maybe the month after)!!!
Images of my years of modeling and having my agents take my measurements flashed through my head. Always having to stay within a range of lines on that tape measure.
I remember one week my waist was one centimeter bigger than the acceptable limit my agency had set for me. As punishment for being a naughty girl who ate one too many pizzas while I was living in Italy, my agency kept my pocket money for the week. (a models allowance that is used to buy groceries and basics). Next week if I hadn't lost the centimeter I wouldn't be getting it either. She also suggested I started smoking cigarettes because it would accentuate my cheekbones.
As soon as I got back to my apartment that day, I started the potato diet. I had heard on a podcast if you only ate plain potatoes for every meal you would lose weight really fast. If you were wondering, the diet did work and I got my pocket money back the following week. Cigarettes and potatoes.. YUM!
Anyways, I was no longer modeling but the voice inside my head had been my new agent for a while. It was always telling me I needed to look a certain way and fit into a certain set of arbitrary measurements.
When we went inside the store, my husband and baby scavenged one side of the store for the size I thought I would probably be now (1-2 sizes up HAH!) and I the other side. I went to the change room with 10 pairs of jeans in my arms and he went to go see if there was any other jeans we had missed.
This was the moment of truth. I slid the first pair of jeans over my legs and they wouldn't even fit over my thighs. No matter how hard I pulled, they didnt budge. "Okay don't panic, maybe these were made small..".
The next pair got over my thighs but when I tried to button them up the clasp wouldn't close. Not even close.
Sweat started beading down my temple. Panic slowly started to ensue.
The third pair were a black pair of high waisted jeans that flared slightly at the bottom. These HAD to fit.
But they didn't. Again the button wouldn't clasp no matter how hard I sucked in.
This was my official breaking point. None of these jeans were going to fit. I started to cry, coming to a realization that the image of myself I had always held in my head was no more. I can't be beautiful if i'm 4 sizes bigger can I?
I couldn't believe how much my body had grown. When I looked in the mirror I didn't think I had gained that much weight but seeing the number on the label of the pants and realizing I'd have to go 4 full sizes up from my pre pregnancy size felt like a kick in the stomach.
I sat on the stool in the Zara change room, wearing the pants that I could barely slip on, crying and feeling sorry for myself. Just as I sat down I heard the cries of a baby echoing through the change room. I peaked my head out of the change room to see a line of people waiting zig zagging around the corner and my husband passing by all of these women with a stack of jeans in one arm and our baby in the other.
"I'm sorry babe but he needs you" he said, as he squeezed behind the curtain in my change room and handed me our baby that needed a feeding. He noticed I had been crying and I broke down to him, telling him that none of these jeans were going to fit and how upset I was.
In the middle of my break down, we both heard a sound we knew all too well at this point. Our babies diaper exploding. We looked at each other and I just sighed. We both started laughing hysterically. There's nothing like a big old poop to shake you out of a spiral.
We tag teamed his diaper change on the floor of the change room.
Once that was done I continued feeding my beautiful baby. As I was feeding him my husband started to ask me a question.
Him: "What are you doing right now?"
Me: "Feeding our baby"
Him: "Why can't you fit into your jeans"
Me: "Because I had a baby"
Him: "Look at what you're doing right now. You can't fit into those jeans because you made this baby. You grew him and you're still doing that today. You made him. You're not unhealthy. You JUST had a baby. Give yourself some grace. Be kind to yourself. Look at what you're doing. Come back"
Leave it to my husband and a big poopy diaper to put things into perspective. And he was absolutely right. The reason I couldn't fit into my arbitrary, idealistic vision of what my body should look like wasn't because I was a bad person or lazy or whatever other destructive thoughts I was having about myself in that moment. It was because of the little life, covered in poop, on the change room floor. I made that (with the help of my husband of course). My body grew him , nourished him, was still nourishing him and protected him. My body did all of those things for him. So if I had to choose between my 4-pack and cellulite free thighs or this version of reality, I would choose the latter every time.
I'm not saying since this moment I have felt 100% confident with my body at all times. But the shift in perspective was a new tool I would carry with me till this day. Anytime I start to go into victim mode or feel not as confident as I would like about my body, I think of this day and my baby and all I have done for him since the first spark of his life. This brings me back to the present and shakes me out of feeling sorry for myself.
I will continue to work out, move my body and get strong but not for the aesthetics. For my baby boy so he can see his mother thrive. So his mother can pick him up and play with him. So we can adventure around the world together until i'm old and grey.
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