The dread has set in...

I knew this day would come. I had hoped it wouldn't. I had made out little charts and lists that would help me meet my goals and avoid it all together but somehow I knew I'd have to face it. Maybe it's because it's been something I've feared my whole adult life. Maybe it's because it's something I've never faced and had assumed I could employ the same extreme tactics at the last minute. Or maybe it's just because I was moving along, at this new mom-time pace which is substantially faster than normal person time, and I looked up and it's here. I should have seen the warning signs, the little snippets of time that would let me know I should kick it in high gear to out run my foe... But, like I said, it's here and I'm now facing it... Shorts and swimsuit season, with my new and not-so-improved mommy-bread-dough-suit body.

I have spent my entire adult life being relatively consumed with my appearance. I have yo-yo'd off and on diets. I have loathed my body and punished myself for not being able to fit into my ever tinier size 4's. This battle is nothing short of ridiculous from where I sit now. I look back at the pictures of that body I hated so much and I actually long for those thighs and pine for that tummy. How could I have been so short sighted? Did I really think that a size 8 was fat? What would my old self think of my new self jumping up and down in a pair of way-to-small Spanx while trying to shimmy my way into a 14? Old me would probably have puked in her mouth.

As I sit here wearing all jersey cotton, draw string and maternity underwear and bra I can't help but wonder what made me be so dang hard on myself. I'm nowhere near happy with the fact that I will be shopping borderline plus size and will have to be told, "We don't carry that size in the store but there's a great selection online," at more than one retailer, but why, oh, why have I lost my urge to move. My urge to choose salad over soup and my desperate need to be thin.

I don't want to hate and punish myself but could seriously use at least a quarter of the motivation of the girl who once religiously kept a food diary and woke up at 5am to go running. I have enough motivation to say I want to be thin but then those damn cake pops turned out really well, or the neighbor made baked spaghetti for dinner. I actually set an alarm on my phone to go off every morning at 5:30am. It says, "Get Fit!" It went off this morning and I rolled over, looked at it and actually audibly said, "not this morning."

So, as I contemplate whether to brave the stores for a minimal large or rather extra-large sized summer staples, I can't help but wonder if I'm enabling myself. If I buy things that I"m comfortable in will I remember how my knees and feet hurt in the morning from packing around all this extra weight? Will I remember when my hand reaches for the second helping? And then the other question...Does it really matter? Should I worry about it? I have this perfect little boy because this flabby body was just strong enough to carry him  and keep him healthy. I laid in bed for 10 weeks. What did I expect would happen?

Today is always the day. It's always the day I plan to make a menu. It's always the day I plan to go for a run. It's always the day. That's how I got to this beautiful day. The sun is out and I am faced with two choices...maternity panel shorts or admit that there have been way too many today's-the-days that haven't been and suck it up and so some flippin' sit-ups already.

I just have to face the fact that I got me here, rough pregnancy or not and I'm the only person that can save me from elastic wastes and drawstrings. I hope that the old me can forgive the new me and maybe help out a little with some compassionate coaching and encouragement. I know in my heart that if I could do 27 weeks of light duty and 10 weeks of bed rest that I can face shorts season with a smile and stretchmarks while I very slowly and carefully make better choices. I have to know that or I'll never get out of this dough suit.