Body after baby take 3

You know what's annoying? Like really annoying. When someone comments, "You look great for having three kids."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I only look good because I've had three kids, but if this was my body and I hadn't had three kids, then it would look like crap?

I've carried three babies in this body. Each one gave me stretch marks that I will take to my grave, and cellulite on my ass that will be there no matter how much I weigh.

And guess, what? I'm totally fine with that.

But bigger shocker, even if I hadn't had three babies, I'd still be totally fine with my body. Blasphemy, I know.

After H and B, I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight by they time they were each three months old. And I didn't do a damn thing to get there. Benefit of being 21 and 23 when I had them, I suppose.

By the time B was 4 months old though, PPD was kicking my ass. I took it into my own hands and went on a crazy strict diet that behooved both myself and B (who had some food issues). I started working out every single day and if I missed a day I was hard on myself. Like, what kind of person misses a workout when they're trying to better themselves? I was hardcore.

I got skinny. Really skinny. Skinnier than I was in high school.

And everyone told me how fabulous I looked. And at that time, there was no "for having kids" added to the end of the sentences. Nope. I was skinny and got compliments every where I went.

Know what sucks?

I was miserable.

Fucking miserable.

It was like people were saying, "hey, you might be a mental basket case right now, but that doesn't matter, you look good!" Like fitting into societies beauty ideals was more important than being healthy and happy.

Thank God that didn't last.

But it certainly made a lasting impression on me.

At my unhealthiest mentally, and even physically (I was half starved and breastfeeding two babies on demand), that's when people went out of their way to comment on my appearance.

Ya'll, that's messed up.

This go-round, I have not lost all the baby weight by month three. Not even close. I'm still hanging onto an extra 15-20 pounds (I haven't gotten on a scale, but I have bought bigger pants, ha).

I'm okay right here.

Right now.

I've got a baby to hold and love on and a restricted diet all ready to meet his needs. I hike with the kids and walk miles while they bike ride and we hula hoop in the yard and play tag and trek around the zoo. Sitting down is like a miracle.

But I'm not setting that baby down so that I can do "real" exercise. I'm going to blink anyway, and he'll be running around and I will have all the time in the world to worry about what the size label on my jeans say.

So right now it just doesn't matter.

And when it creeps into the back of my head, because it does; I'm a woman, I've been listening to this shit my whole life. I just remember that there are lots of women out there who would do anything to be lugging around an extra 15 pounds of baby weight.

Quite frankly, I'm one of them. I'll keep this weight forever if that's what the trade off is for sweet M. We fought hard, and struggled privately, and shed so many tears thinking we would never actually have another baby. So 15lbs is a mighty easy price to pay if you ask me.

And I'm happy. So freaking, over the moon happy right now. And I'm healthy, even if I'm not quite at the weight I'm typically most comfortable at. I can't argue.

It's fortunate that I'm not an individual who has ever cared what others think or say. At least I have that going for myself. 

Also, I look good.

Three kids or not, thank you very much.