Tonight we celebrate, Granny Panties…tomorrow you burn!
When I got home from the hospital, I needed some comfy big clothing while I settled into maternity leave. My mom went to the store and bought me some big comfy nightgowns and some big comfy…granny panties.
The grannies were great. They were long, fit well over my c-section scar and had a nice easy elastic that didn’t give me a muffin top. They were comfy and soft. I wore them for a really long time.
But the grannies have got to go.
My trainer at the gym told me the other day, “You need to put your big girl panties on and lift this weight!” While my metaphorical big girl panties might not have been on, my literal big girl panties were…in the form of the grannies.
During postpartum depression, it was hard to look at my body with the mess of sagging stretch marks, the poof of a giant belly that hadn’t been there before and fat…dripping all over my entire body. All of that was neatly contained by large cotton grannies.
It was a daily reminder of the lowness and depression.
I’m six weeks into my fitness challenge at the gym and I’ve lost 11 pounds. Things are starting to tighten up. The loose skin is slowly dissipating from my reality into dark memories. The belly is slimming down and I’m starting to see glimpses of my old body in the mirror.
In fact, as I stare in the mirror, my body pains me less. I’m able to put on more and more of my old clothing, piece by piece. Inch by inch, I am starting to feel like myself again. I’m able to celebrate these little milestones. I’m starting to be a little bit more OK with my stretch marks as they fade and grow less visible. I’m starting to appreciate my postpartum body a little more. It’s different from what I had before I got pregnant – but in many ways, it’s better. My body’s stronger. My arms are more toned, my back is strong from dead lifts and I feel more and more like an athlete.
As part of my recovery from postpartum depression, I’ve been taking time to celebrate the little victories. Considering that a lot of my baggage is packed away in my weight, I plan to celebrate my exit from the grannies with a bonfire. I still have 20 pounds to go, but I’ll take my time to say goodbye to a good friend that served me well in those first 12 months postpartum. Some days it feels like I’ll never be back to normal, physically speaking and mental health-wise. But those days are fewer and far between. It’s the lie that depression tells you. So that’s why taking the time to appreciate each and every one of the baby steps is so important.
So off you go, grannies, into the fire. Burn baby, burn!
As many of you know, dealing with having dashed expectations about having a second kid is something that occupies my time frequently. I always figured that if I had kids, I would have kidS and that my first baby would have a sibling. It was all or nothing. Two kids or zero kids.
