I’ve been thinking about body image a lot recently. I had lost 40 pounds prior to becoming prgenant, going from a size 18 to a svelte (for me) size 10. Then I put on 40 pounds in pregnancy. That may not seem like a lot, but I was still about 20 pounds overweight when I got pregnant, so a healthy weight gain for me would have probably been in the 25 pound range. As far as I can tell, the only weight I lost was the actual weight of the baby and the placenta. - we’re talking maybe 9 pounds total. I think I may have actually gained weight post-partum. Since I don’t weigh myself regularly (a healthy thing, for me), I don’t know. The last time I did weigh myself, I tipped the scales at 212 pounds, and I’m only 5′4″. It’s pretty hard to type that, to see it in black and white. This is probably the most weight my body has ever carried.

There are a couple of things going on here. I’m feeling bad about becoming fat again. Being a Fat Woman was shameful enough to me, but somehow I hate even more the idea of being a Fat Mama. Could there be anything more uncool? I feel so ugly that I don’t want to be in or see any pictures of myself at this time. Then on top of it, I’m feeling stupid about being so hung up on my weight, for being so superficial. I mean, Sami is only a little baby once - and I’m too ashamed to be in pictures? Shouldn’t I be proud of the weight that I put on to nourish a child, even if it was a little too much? Shouldn’t I have patience that the weight will come off, eventually?

But there is real pain here, real regret. I regret the afternoons sitting on my ass in the office, wolfing down chocolate chip cookies 4 ” in diameter. I regret not exercising for most of my whole last trimester, out of sheer laziness. In my last trimester, I went into a kind of dreamland where I KNEW the pregnancy weight would just magically melt off through breastfeeding and I’d be back to pre-pregnancy weight in mere weeks. Well, that just didn’t happen. I should have known that my body is the type of body to hold on to weight with a desperate ferociousness. I am not one of those magical melting types.

Other mamas who had babies at the same time as me post on the message boards about how they are now back to their pre-pregnancy weights. That makes me feel like shit. (In general, when I compare myself to other moms, I tend to feel like shit. Note to self: don’t compare self to other moms.)

Recently, I shared about my experience of body hatred with some friends, and one of them had some real wisdom for me. “How you look is not your business,” she said. “What you weigh is not your business. Your clothing size is not your business.”

“Anyway,” she said, “You’re glowing, with the love you have for your son. It’s written all over your face. So get in those pictures!”

She’s right. She is so right.

I have been wasting too much energy on the whole feeling-like-shit feeling-sorry-for-myself thing, energy that would be better spent cooking healthy meals and getting some more good quality exercise. Because behind this whole negative shame thing, I realize that there is a positive longing to be healthy and fit. This is heavy baggage - excuse the pun. My mother died young, of complex reasons - obesity being one of them. In truth, I am terrified of sharing her fate. I don’t want to leave Sami any earlier than I have to.

OK, I know I can’t control when I die. Fitness guru Jim Fixx dropped dead of a heart attack in his 40s, while running, right? While I certainly could die young very easily at a trim 120 lbs, I know that the extra weight is not healthy for me. I want to be well, to feel good. I want to have energy to run after my son when he is old enough to run around. And I know that I feel better physically and emotionally when I am in better shape. The key for me is exercise. While I try to get out for walks with Sami, they just don’t feel like they are giving me enough of a cardio workout to affect my weight very much. I was really despairing about this not getting enough exercise business, until I realized, DUH–gyms have child care!!

There is hope for me yet. I have six weeks until Sami is old enough for the (free!) child care at the local Y. I just met another mama who goes to the Y regularly, and maybe I will ask her to be my gym buddy.

Meanwhile, in these next six weeks, I am going to practice radical self-love, when it is my impulse to indulge in self-hate. My son deserves a mama who loves herself unconditionally. So I’ll grab on to my thigh folds and my ass cellulite, my squishy mommy tummy and my double chin, and I’ll send them love. I’ll stand in front of the mirror naked, and I’ll hug myself, damn it. I’ll get in front of the camera, holding my awesome son, and I’ll smile, big.