It would be easy to look at my body as it is now and be disappointed. It would be easy to say that I’ve failed to reach my goals for my body. It would be easy to look at the weight I have to lose. To give in to thoughts that I have a baby who is not a baby anymore and at 18 months, I should have lost the weight by now.
But I don’t think that. I think I grew two humans. I think that I’m ok with the fact that I’m a person who gains weight everywhere and lots of it when I’m pregnant. I look at them and they are worth far more than the fat on my bones.
I could think about how much more work I have to do now to even think about losing weight. I swear, in my early twenties I barely even had to look at a treadmill for the weight to fall out. But instead, I can be proud that I am capable of all of that work. I can be proud of the fact that I love my body enough to make it run, lots. Most weeks I make it run about 34kms. I love it by giving it strength, determination and the ability to not listen to it when i need to find the next gear and the wisdom to listen to it when it needs a rest.
What do I love about my body right now?
I love all the parts that all that work has touched. I can see where all of that running has defined my body, in the same way carrying and birthing my babies have defined it. I love both definitions.