Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away, I lost loads of weight, got rid of all my old clothes and invested in a new wardrobe befitting of my newfound confidence, lovingly bestowed upon me by a gorgeous hunk of manliness.
Oh, 2017, you were an amazing year for me!
Roll on giving birth, and never have I ever felt like such a heifer. Back to that feeling of immense undesirability, I tend to look at my Travis and be overwhelmed with a feeling of love. I can’t look at him without feeling everything I’ve ever felt for him, amplified tenfold. I watch him interacting with our little babe and my heart swells with adoration and pride, smiling wide because my baby has the most amazing daddy she could ever wish for.
And then I remember I look the way I do, and wonder how I could ever hope to get those hugs and kisses back the way I used to have them in abundance; the cheeky slaps, the sneaky groping, all of those so far seem lost to me. But I manage to get around it by avoiding mirrors, in general. Well, everywhere except the bathroom since the designer thought it’d be an excellent idea to have a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall beside the toilet, facing the sink and shower. Still, I can wash, crap and shower with my eyes closed, so I manage to get around it all.
What I can’t do is not hear things.
Today we took the little babe to see my gran.
I’ll always remember the Pensioner War of 2000 (I’m likely wrong about the year but it was between then and 2010). Two competitive grannies commenting on my size: “Kate, haven’t you put on a lot of weight?” Swiftly countered with, “I think she’s actually lost a lot of weight.” So either I used to be fat or I was fat. Jury’s out on that.
Today, one day before Freyja turns 6 months old, I start getting comments about if I’m dieting yet, because I really should lose some weight.
Don’t I feel the love!
I can’t work out because I need fixing – my MRI shows my sciatic nerve is trapped on both sides, possibly due to compression from a “bulging disc” so I’m currently 4 weeks into waiting for a referral to the spinal unit as well as physiotherapy. I’m not the spriteliest person in the world right now!
On top of that, right now I’m sitting on a couch which has seen many better days and I’m hearing the suspicious sound of creaking underneath me; somewhat similar to the time during month 8 of pregnancy when I sat down on this sofa’s twin and the leg snapped.
I remember the summer days in Watford, walking with a skip in my step to meet Travis from work, lying on the grass to watch him juggle and spin poi.
It’s not it being just the two of us I miss. It’s the mobility; the knowing I could do that without feeling the need to collapse in a heap and get offered a chair by a concerned pensioner – which has happened! Only last month I got overtaken on the pavement by a granny likely in her late 80s. It’s really not much fun!
I get all the smiles in the world from Little La La, but while that does make things better, it also saddens me. I get the smiles, but I also get the tears stemming from the fact I just can’t do the things her Daddy and Grandad can do for her.
Still, I will get better. That’s non-negotiable. And then perhaps I can have that life with Travis again; only it won’t just be me lying on the grass to watch him – it’ll be our little girl too.
I’m so proud of the family we’ve made. I just need to get out of this funk.