Just so SQUISHY!!

Body image has become a catch phrase. A phrase shouted from every feminist rooftop at every billboard, magazine, commercial and sexist pig within earshot. I, myself, have carried this banner on numerous occasions (see many previous blog posts for proof).

And yet it slaps me in the face almost every morning as I dress myself and my daughter for another marathon day on this treadmill of life. Sigh, oh to be able to wear yoga pants to work...**sigh**

Anyway, as I was saying. I am no stranger to body image issues. I struggled through my "chunky stage" as a child thanks to boys with no verbal filter; I suffered Kelly-green-like envy through middle school as girls developed and sprouted legs for days but I seemed to have missed that PE course (sadly I never missed a single Tae Bo class, still have flashbacks to punching myself in the face); and lest we forget the dreaded first boyfriend who broke your heart by cheating on you with a skinny blonde or the hellish drudgery that is prom dress shopping when you clearly have womanly curves not the coveted tween willowy frame.

In college I said to heck with it, I found my place among the pj-clad freshmen of my tiny community college and I proudly pranced my faded and tattered walmart supply. I hate to tell ya, no amount of cotton or flannel will hide the insecurity of a girl who doesn't know or like her body.

So I did what any good southern Christian girl does in college when she needs money... I signed up for a beauty pageant. There would be no chance of people seeing my bodily short-comings there!

Oddly enough I was surrounded by family, friends and pageant staff who were pillars of support an encouragement. I dieted, I worked out, I binged when neither one of those worked immediately. I rinsed (and tucked, spray tanned, hair-sprayed, teased) and repeated.  Somewhere around the time I was told, "You will never be thin enough to be Miss (insert southern state here)," reality set in. I don't mean I swallowed that poison, shoot no, I went on to make the Top 10 at state (please, hold your applause til the end :)). No, I realized that someone's idea of perfect didn't have to be my idea of perfect and would never be my idea of happy. I found balance. I had fun again. I met people, made friends, had life experiences and bought bigger (non-pj) clothes. I rekindled the love of my life, got married, moved up north and formally began my adult-ness.

Yes, I misplaced some balance that first year of marriage. You try living in a city with pizza stacked 3 inches high and tell me you won't gain 20 pounds. So, hi ho-hi ho back to the gym I go. And I actually did it. I worked hard. I lost all of that weight and a little more. For the first time in my adult life I felt beautiful with no asterisk. (beautiful* for a size 10 or whatever). I felt even better on the morning that I hit my goal weight. SUCCESS!!! Cue balloons and trumpets!!! Then I felt exhausted. Not gym exhausted I mean EXHAUSTED. "lay down right now before you fall down" type of exhausted. "Why?" I'm glad you asked, that same afternoon I found out we were expecting our first child. So my ideal weight was enjoyed for all of one day. YAAAAY (vomit, nap, vomit again, eat a piece of toast).

Fast forward two years. My daughter is a perfect doll. A screaming, running, torrent of vocabulary, strawberry curls and bright blue eyed perfection. I should be beaming with pride. Yet here I stand in my closet staring at dresses from the pre-baby era dangling slimly next to maternity dresses that I do still wear (don't judge, you will understand some day!!) and all I can think is "not one single thing fits me right." My hips are slightly wider but not as wide and pregnant me, my boobs aren't baby-filling big nor do they fit in pre-baby tops. My rear-end seems to have shifted... well I don't know exactly what's going on back there but pants feel all wrong. (except yoga pants, I love you yoga pants, don't ever leave me)

This is scenic route to my point. How to deal with body image post-pageants, post-baby and very much uncomfortable in the (mass of) skin you now occupy. No seriously, I'm asking. I drag my sorry (oddly shaped) behind to the gym at 5 am, 4 days a week. I am proud to announce my arms no longer jiggle when I wave. My legs are strong and firm (er than previously). But the mommy-belly endures. I have read countless blogs/articles/posts/social media ish stating "wear your stripes proudly, Mama, you are a tigress!" or something like that. Which is empowering and makes me want to pop-tall and salute in full fatigues but not so much wear a bathing suit or even shorts.  I don't know how to be proud of this body. Ya ya, I created, carried and expelled a human blah blah blah... but I'm just So SQUISHY!

Even as I write this I know the answer. I know it will take  dedication, food-journaling, caffeine-limiting, a community of support and agonizing time. But is there a line of clothing for a demographic of women who are "no longer pregnant, but not back to our old size and pretty sure everything has been moved by about an inch"?

There should be. Hey Carrie Underwood, can you get on that? I don't think we need another line of gym clothes too expensive to sweat in, Kate Hudson has that covered.