hat - american apparel, sweater - f21, pants - a.g., boots - hunter

Do you have a movie you just want to live in?? For me, a lot of Wes Anderson movies immediately come to mind as do Nancy Meyers movies. Do you remember the kitchen in It's Complicated???? That movie always make me crave a croque monsieur, specifically from this tiny little restaurant in Montreal. They have a whole shelf lined with jars of freshly pickled baby cucumbers and your croque arrives with the jar in tow and it was one of the best meals I've ever had. It also makes me crave a perfect chocolate croissant, which I have yet to discover but it's something I'm working on fervently. 

This past weekend I felt like I could almost be on the set of Something's Gotta Give. How dreamy was that house?? I've always been obsessed with that beach picnic scene and I thought this sweater would just be perfect for something like that. It's as cozy as the movie itself, it just screams pancakes for dinner, rainy days by the fire and dreaming of a trip to Paris in the winter. I also have this fantasy regarding my old age. I dream that I'll be just like Diane Keaton - confident, witty, girlishly darling and my closet will only consist only of black and white. And perhaps a stray turtleneck here and there just to keep things mysterious. She's got the whole "woman" thing on lock don't you think?? 

last november

There's been a lot of talk about "that photo" in the last week or so. I think most of you know what I'm talking about and I don't feel like linking to it since I'm not looking to kick up more dust. And because the opposition at this point is doing the same thing, it's all women bashing women in the end. Which I can't stand and which brings me to this post. I thought a lot about writing it and in the end I felt I had to if only for the reason that it has been so helpful to me in the past when other women have opened up about their struggles. 

The gist of the photo is a very, very thin and fit mother of three (under 3) with the caption "what's your excuse?" My first reaction was just sadness. Sadness over the fact that this woman could not find a more magnanimous way of being proud of her accomplishment and sad over everything that has followed since. And here is why.

Pregnancy is amazing and beautiful, it really is, but I know that every single mama would admit that you get to a certain point, somewhere after 35 weeks, where you start to hate it. You hate the way clothes fit (or rather don't), you hate how heavy, bloated and exhausted you feel and you hate the way you can't get comfortable anywhere. And then you have those moments of panic when you catch your reflection and you can't possibly imagine how you'll ever look like yourself again. It's at both times horrifying and exhilarating to watch your body change so much. 

Then you have your little bundle of joy and the real work begins. Perhaps there are some non-earthly creatures that don't go through postpartum, don't struggle with breastfeeding and are back to a size zero by week two. God bless them. But I am about to get very real and honest and perhaps say things that are not politically correct. But it's the truth and for the sake of others who feel they are in the same place I feel that I must share this - the first two months after I had Birdie were some of the darkest times I have ever experienced. 

I will try and not bore you with extreme detail but suffice to say I had a very traumatic delivery and severe damage to my coccyx. For a week I could not sit or stand completely upright. This made nursing a complete nightmare. Once the severe pain subsided I still could not sit until I started going to physical therapy, which I'm still going to twice a week. Dealing with my injury has taken every ounce of patience in me and I am only now starting to make peace with the fact that my recovery is years down the line. So that is one aspect of my postpartum recovery.

The other part was almost equally as frustrating. When I looked in the mirror at myself I simply did not recognize the body I saw. It genuinely scared me. I've pretty much always looked the same, since freshman year of college, minus a few small weight fluctuations here and there. And trust me it's not just the weight, it's the way my skin looked, the way different body parts looked. To me I felt like I looked like a giant mess. I pretty much lived in pajamas and giant plush robe I had bought for the hospital. 

But a newborn will keep you busy and though I had a lot of negative thoughts I never quite understood just how far down the "mean reds" rabbit hole I had gotten. That is until our first weekend getaway with my parents. It was the first time we had a lot of help for a prolonged period of time and the first time since Birdie's birth that I wasn't on "alert" at all times. And I felt it hit me like a wave, threatening to take me under - I hate me. I hate how I look. I hate how I feel. I hate that I'm thinking this right now. I'm a bad mum. I'm a bad woman. I hate this all... I felt disconnected from life, as if I was just going through the motions when in reality my mind dwelled in a dark hole. 

Then my hair started to fall out, in clumps. My nails were ripping all the time. I never wanted to eat and I slept every chance I got. Some days all I could accomplish were the bare necessities - taking care of my baby. About two months postpartum I had an appointment with my midwife regarding my coccyx and I decided to ask her about these symptoms. They ran my blood work. Turns out my thyroid has stopped functioning after the delivery. And so the race to level out my thyroid began. 

So now I go to physical therapy twice a week and take thyroid medication. Let me tell you something about your thyroid, to whichever degree it's malfunctioning will determine whether you lose extreme amounts of weight or gain. Right now I'm on the "gain" part of this journey. So you know my hair isn't falling out anymore and I'm not as tired but I'm gaining approximately two pounds a week (starting to question whether I'm making the right choice here...). On top of that my exercising has been limited due to my injury so running isn't recommended, neither is biking and I have to be "careful" with certain aerobics. 

And I'll be honest with you some days it's really hard. I still try and exercise several times a week but it starts to feel incredibly frustrating when I can't see an ounce of a difference. Some days I still can't get comfortable in a sitting position and I'll take pain killers to make it through a long drive. And I beat myself up about it. I wonder all the time, long before the photo, what really is my excuse?? I see plenty of women on instagram, blogs, facebook with more kids than I have that look much more fit and thin. I'm constantly thinking am I eating wrong? Do I need to exercise more? Should I be eating at all??? And truly the last thing I need is another more fit mother asking me the question that already runs through my mind every day. 

Motherhood and pregnancy are one of the hardest things any woman will go through, I am convinced of that. It's a thorny path and often a path that can feel lonely and isolating. If anything we need to support each other, to offer empathy and understanding and just give ourselves time. Time to heal and time to find our place both physically and emotionally in this world again. Motherhood has radically changed the way I look at women. Ever since I had Birdie I look at women as heroes, as people that have gone through not only something incredibly difficult and brave but something transforming as well. We grow babies inside of these bodies after all!! 

And it does get better. I have faith that my thyroid will function normally again and I will have at least a semblance of my old metabolism back. My coccyx may never be better but I'm learning that that's alright too. Builds character right??? And I'm learning to not be so hard on myself and to give myself a break every once in a while. And while I can't say I'm entirely happy with my body yet I do appreciate the fact that it was such a good home to our baby and the miraculous way that it has healed since delivery. We've come along way, this bag of bones and I, and there's more to go but I believe that there is hope.

^ our house has become a bit of a pumpkin bread factory as of late ^

This week has flown by terribly fast, blame it on the commuting (we got home from DC on Sunday night) or the fact that it's getting dark at practically seven making me think it's ten, but Wednesday came surprisingly soon. But I'm not complaining. It meant we get to Friday faster and that's just grand as far as I'm concerned since we're making our annual family pilgrimage to Chincoteague for the weekend. The promise of bike rides along the beach, the best Greek salad I've ever had at Maria's and legendary ice cream cones have been tempting me all week. 

It's been a "homey" week full of work and laundry and baking pumpkin bread but life isn't perfect and we had a few rough nights with our little lady that I'm sure we can blame on teething. We've had weeks and months where we just pushed and pushed ourselves regardless of how much sleep we got, regardless of how sane we felt and regardless of darn exhausted we felt. Sometimes it's ok, we're up for the challenge, but this week I just knew that pushing would result in - breaking down. So we didn't wait. We didn't wait until the snappy comments worked their way into our daily interactions. We didn't wait until crying. Until endless sighs and messy beds and the "I just don't care anymore." We pressed pause. 

On Tuesday we had friends over for tea. We tidied up the house together and baked and entertained our guests. And we sipped our tea long after they left and watched the sun disappear behind the mountains from our dining room table littered with bits of pumpkin bread and discarded tea bags. On Wednesday we had a proper breakfast as a family complete with some morning cartoons and a quality cup of coffee courtesy of papa bear. He's the only person in the whole world who knows how to make my coffee exactly how I like it, which in case you're wondering is as the Beastie Boys rapped "I like my sugar with coffee and cream." 

Later that night I decided that since we're officially in fall, pumpkins, fallen leaves and all, I had nature's permission to dust off my nordic themed onsie pj's. Though terribly impractical when it comes to visits to the bathroom they are wonderfully cozy and feel like traveling back in time and finding yourself five years old again. We unfurled a bevy of blankets on our bed, filled our nightstands with bowls overflowing with apples and put You've Got Mail in the dvd player. Our room felt so cozy and the sound of the Cranberries "Dreams" began to lull us into a state of complete relaxation. We fell asleep somewhere between "you're nothing but a suit" and "someday I'll explain everything." We didn't mind not finishing since we knew the ending by heart: "Don't cry, Shopgirl, don't cry" and "I wanted it to be you.  I wanted it to be you so badly." 

And we woke up on Thursday and Thursday morning turned into Thursday afternoon and...

And then before we knew it today came and it was THE WEEKEND!!