Body image

I've been thinking about my body lately - a lot more than usual.

I've always struggled with my weight.  Not necessarily outwardly - in a way that my friends and family could tell.  It's been more of an inward battle. I wouldn't say I've ever had "body issues".  In fact, I often feel as though I should give my parents far more credit than I do, for raising me to believe I was - AM - beautiful, no matter what age, shape, or weight I am. 

In elementary school, I never once thought I was too fat or thin - and I don't ever remember thinking that about any of the other girls I went to school with, either.

As soon as I entered middle school and shifted from a normal little sixth grader, into an awkward glasses, braces, and extra-large leftover-from-the-80's bang-toting 7th grader, I began to feel a little self-concious of my appearance.  But I never remember feeling ugly or fat.  Just, awkward.

I remember my Aunt saying to me "you should wear a ponytail throughout middle school...every day...and then come back for ninth grade with no braces, contacts, and long blond hair!"  And to an extent, I did that.  Came back with a new look, joined the cheerleading squad, and started making an entirely new group of friends.  So much so, in fact, that once in the 10th grade, a group of friends and I were sitting around talking about middle school and one of my best guy friends said to me "wait, you went to our school in 7th and 8th grade?  I thought you were new last year!"  Apparently I really had made an appearance change.

Being a cheerleader, I developed some serious muscles. My thigh muscles were strong; my biceps toned. When people would see our arms and say "wow, do you lift weights?", my best friend Sara and I used to love to joke (seeing as we were "bases") "no, we lift other girls!" Throughout high school, I wore a size 5 or 7 pants comfortably (oh to wear junior sizes again...sigh). I was always relatively thin.  Never worried about being overweight. 

When I went off to college, I stopped working out almost altogether.  In most cases, one would think this would be bad for your body, but for me, it was the opposite.  I lost all of my muscle tone from cheerleading, but was still walking a couple of miles a day on campus back and forth from my dorm to classes, the dining hall, etc.  As my muscles disappeared, but my diet remained relatively small (just lunch and dinner thanks to sleeping in late and meal plans!), instead of gaining the freshman 15, I dropped it.  I was wearing a size 4 regularly, a size 2 on good days.  Sure, I drank my fair share of calories in bud light and boone's farm, but as college went on, I took on a waitressing job, only upping the amount I was walking per day and continuously burning calories without really trying.

And then I graduated.  And stopped working as a waitress.  I started a desk job.  Moved out on my own - buying my own food.  Drinking just as much as in college.  Doing FAR less physical activity.  And the weight started to creep on.

I started to feel bloated and unattractive most of the time.

The guy I was dating made sure to tell me I looked gross.  And in a way, I couldn't blame him.  I went from a size small, with a flat stomach, to having a muffin top and cellulite.  And all I could do was eat and drink away my unhappiness.

When I finally ended that relationship and moved into an apartment on my own, I started to drop a tiny bit of weight.  And then it happened.  I found the Arlington night life.  And I started going out 3-5 times a week.  A WEEK.  Talk about carb overload.  I'm surprised I didn't smell like beer or vodka-tonics around the clock.  It wasn't so much that I was a drunk.  I was never out of control.  I just was completely enjoying the young, single, city lifestyle.  To the fullest.

Until I realized I was lonely.  And going out drinking several nights a week was only a temporary void filler.  So I scaled it back.  Started spending more nights in with my puppy.  And magically the weight started to fall off.  Amazing how cutting out the beer made the pounds melt off.  I started going to the gym occasionally - walking, sometimes jogging (but let's be serious, mostly walking).

I met Todd and was back in a happy place with my life.  Both in my relationship, and in my internal body image.

Since Todd and I became a couple, we've both gone through our ups and downs with weight - falling into that relationship comfort zone...racking up a few pounds here and there because it's so damn fun to go out to dinner with someone you love!

But before I got pregnant with Nick, I was actually in decent shape.  My clothes were all in the range of size 6 to 8.  I was healthy -- and not insecure.

And then I got pregnant.  And suddenly I felt as though it was totally ok to have a big bowl of cocoa puffs before bed.  Every night.  Sometimes followed by a helping of mashed potatoes.  And suddenly I was 37 weeks pregnant, tipping the scales at just over 200 lbs, and living this fantasy that as soon as Nick came out, my weight would go back down.

To an extent, it did.  I was under 200 lbs just after he was born.  Down around 180 when we left the hospital.  But I still felt gross.

After I finally bounced back from my battle with post-partum depression, I started to focus on myself a bit.  Walking to be healthy.  Eating better than I ever had.

By the time Nick was a year old, I was around 160 lbs.  And while that was 20 lbs more than I wanted to be, I didn't find myself disgusting.  I still didn't have bad body image so much as a drive to look better.

So last summer, I put my big girl panties on, got back to the grindstone, and started really working out.  I was walking every day, often jogging - doing the couch to 5K program, and doing Jillian Michael's 30 day shred.  I was nowhere near where I wanted to be in terms of weight, but I could tell I was getting more toned.  I started to like how I looked in clothes.  And I really started to like how I was feeling - not out of breath or sluggish.

And then we went on vacation to Myrtle Beach -- and all of my progress went right out the window with the seafood dinners and daily ice cream cones.  I fell off the wagon.  And here we are almost a year later, and I have yet to get back on it.

Until now.

So I'm putting it all out here for the world - as in my 26 followers who all know me in real life and may or may not tell me when I'm looking a little "swollen" (what's up mom!) - to keep me accountable.

I don't want to be this heavy any more.  I don't want my thighs to rub together under my maxi dress.  I'm sick of digging my shorts out of my crotch when I walk.  I don't want my arms to flap in the breeze when Nick and I are at the playground, and I sure as hell would like to wear a shirt that's more tailored to my body without having to worry about how muffiny my muffin top is that day.

I've already succumbed to the fact that I won't ever wear a bikini again, because dammit, nobody wants to see my stretch marks.  But I'd like to feel confident in my tankini.  Maybe it won't happen in time for this summer.  But maybe it will.

All I know is that I'm finally ready - ready to get back on the wagon - to stick with it - to get myself into shape. And I'm holding myself accountable.  I'm going to throw out the mindset that "well, this one slice of pizza won't hurt anything" because let's be real - one slice means four...followed by a trip to Dairy Queen. 

I'm releasing my inner chubby kid.  And I'm giving in to a better lifestyle.  Because I don't want to be the fat mom on the beach.  I want to be able to breathe when Nick begs me to chase him around the playground over and over again.  I want to look in the mirror again and feel confident in my size.  And I want to get the tattoo that Todd finally agreed I could get - the reward I'm putting in place for myself after I lose the first 15 lbs.

So if you see me out, ready to cram a bacon cheeseburger in my pie hole, feel free to slap it out of my hand.  Because Lord knows I'm gonna need a few reminders, and a whole lot of ass kicking along the way.