I guess now is the time to write this blog.
Right now as I’m sitting in these feelings.
Actually, I thought I dealt with them as they came but obviously not because they’re still on my mind and I ain’t no punk.
So imma deal with them.
So, check this.
As many of you know, I just had a baby.
I mean, it’s literally been only about 300 or so hours since I pushed her out of my vagina.
We’ll talk more about that whole experience later.
This is more important.
Pushed her out on a Wednesday.
Came home on a Friday.
Where I was met by a few family members since they weren’t allowed to come up to the hospital.
(This pandeezy is something else).
Visit is cool.
Baby ain’t doing nothing but sleeping and pooping.
Everybody is chillin.
And my crazy self gone get up and walk across the living room.
Body on display in my nursing dress, for everybody to see.
I mean, I was only trying to get to the kitchen. But that was probably mistake number 1. I need to stay out of there.
So one of the family people says something like, “Ci Ci you still look pregnant.”
I knew this was coming. But not this damn soon.
I wanted to scream, “It has only been 2 days since I had the baby!!!”
But instead, I spoke it intentionally.
Calm tone. Not a lot of inflection.
Cus, there was no way I was going to let them know that that statement stung.
I couldn’t let them know they I had already been beating myself up for the past few months as I watched the weight piling up on my already big frame.
I wasn’t going to tell them that it made me sad that TWO DAYS postpartum I already felt like a whale and no longer had the baby inside to justify why I am so big.
They don’t need to know about the waist trainer.
And the exercise equipment I bought for this moment.
Because none of that even mattered right then.
I literally still had hospital bags in the middle of the floor.
Still introducing baby into her home.
And I was going to have to do all of it still looking pregnant.
Because, what else is a bitch supposed to do?
Ok, so then another family member gave it about a week before they said something.
She made it her business to tell me that it was time to get rid of the belly.
And reminds me of the poor eating habits I developed while I was pregnant.
I mean, damn. I know this too.
Eating was my escape.
I coped with snacks.
And cried in between handfuls of cereal.
I chose to address my mental health all while neglecting my physical.
I knew it wasn’t the best thing.
But I couldn’t do both at once.
You might could. But I could NOT.
I still look pregnant. And I have to lose my belly – one week postpartum.
Meanwhile, my stitches are itching and shit down there.
And I’m still bleeding.
Ain’t quite figured this newborn’s schedule out yet.
And somebody wants to mention my weight.
In between these times, I did some scrolling through old photos and immediately got sad.
I can look back and see the hard work I put in.
The jeans I could squeeze into.
The smile on my face because I felt good.
None of that is going on right now.
Yea. None of that.
Not only do I have my own thoughts to compete against.
But also the commentary from those around me.
And then just last night.
Not even 2 weeks in – a friend of mine let me know she came across some old photos of me and noticed the weight gain.
She said that while I was pregnant she didn’t notice it so much.
I was just pregnant.
And that she supports me in my weight loss journey.
The one that I haven’t started yet because:
Now my hips hurt…
And I haven’t mastered how to make sure my oldest is turning all of his school assignments in on time…
And I can’t get in touch with Amazon to ask for an extension on my 30-day return because I missed the deadline because 🗣 I HAVE A FUCKING NEWBORN IN MY HOUSE!
Top this with, yet another, unsolicited health tip I received from another friend just today.
So you know what I did?
I ate brunch and an early dinner.
With plenty of snacks in between.
I stayed away from the mirror.
Not a selfie was taken on this day or any of the recent ones either.
BUT I did do 10 leg lifts, on one side, in the bed.
You gotta start somewhere, right?
Tip: You should never feel comfortable expressing your opinion about someone else’s size.
It’s really not your place.
Whether they just had a baby or not.
You are not the BMI Police.
And you don’t know what they are going through already.
If I could think of the best way I would receive support right now is for you to come wash my dishes.
Or even put the load of clothes into the dryer.
And then after that, I wanna watch YOU work out.
Because that just might be my motivation.
What not to do: Don’t say nothing to me about my weight. I’m sensitive about my shit.
Baby girl is here.
She is healthy.
Ten toes. Ten fingers. Head size cool. Hearing test passed.
And she came out of this big ole, big ole belly not even two weeks ago.
For fuck’s sake.