On Friday I had a sitter come to stay with the kids. I had to take both car seats out to accommodate a huge piece of art that was finally done being framed. I took the opportunity to go to Target. Alone. Even though I said I wouldn't buy any clothes until my hips drifted back to their normal place I kind of had to. The weather is changing and all I have to wear is maternity pants, which fall down all the time, or my "fat" pants, which, while I can get them on, are really not looking great.
So I walked out of Target with a one-size-larger-than-usual pair of peacock blue corduroy pants in a bag and some I-feel-bad-about-myself thoughts in my head. In the fitting room of Target I faced what every woman who has ever given birth faces: a totally different body. Over the past 10 weeks, my feelings toward my physical appearance are ones of disgust. Then I have to remind myself that my body did something really remarkable in supporting the growth and birth of a baby. It deserves a little more respect and reverence for that so I vowed to wear my new pants with confidence and gratitude for the reason I'm in them in the first place.
About 10 minutes later in my child-free excursion I ran across a good physical reminder of the exchange that just occurred internally. It's a good thought to start off the week: