Let me start with this: I’m currently in the biggest body I’ve ever been in…
and here I am… the happiest I’ve ever been.
Yep. You read that right.
I’m 34 now, and I’m just over four months postpartum. If you’d told 23-year-old me - who had her first baby with all the pressure of “bouncing back” and fitting into jeans by 6 weeks postpartum that one day I’d be this content in a body that jiggles a lot and hasn’t seen a gym mirror in months, I would’ve laughed in your face.
But here I am. Soft. Strong. Tired. Happy.
Having my first two babies in my early 20’s was a very different experience. Back then, upon reflection, I had no idea who I was. Being younger and in a totally different mind frame, I was in constant comparison to people around me and what I could look like for the world of social media. My body was something I felt I had to “get back” in order to get “me back.” And whilst I won’t lie and say that I certainly feel some of those feelings still today, back then, I thought I had to look a certain way to prove to the universe that I had it together. I was scrolling Instagram, even comparing myself to my sisters, thinking everyone else was doing it better. Fitting into their regular clothes immediately, smaller (or non existent) tummies, cuter outfits, glowing skin. It’s so easy to measuring our worth by dress sizes and mirror selfies.
Fast forward to now - baby Esmé being my third and a hell of a lot more life experience under my belt, and things have drastically shifted. I’ve shifted in so many facets of my life from how I approached pregnancy, how I parent now and most notably towards myself. My body is no longer something I need to get “back” because just as we evolve through life, so do our bodies. It’s now something I’ve grown into… stretched, squished, earned. It’s carried and fed three beautiful humans. Only last night I laid in bed with my partner in utter disbelief that my body has contributed three extra humans to the population…from the tiniest of poppyseeds to real life humans. It’s held them at 3am when no one else could soothe them. It’s taken them across the world travelling. I’ve walked hallways, made snacks, been an emotional punching bag.
Sure, I still have goals for my health and my body strength. Do I want to look like this forever? No. I’d love to lose over 10kgs. But am I in a rush? No. There’s no countdown, no deadline, no revenge body in the making. I’m not chasing my 20-something self anymore. I’m learning to love this version of me, as I am. Because in reality, she is a busy mum of three and no she doesn’t have time currently to give herself. I’m ok with that. I knew what I was signing up for. No, we don’t all have “the same 24 hours in the day” … a quote I regularly see fitness influencers promoting on social media. It’s bullshit. Because while you have had your 8 hours sleep, a turmeric iced latte by 7am, pilates by 9 and onto your tuna salad by 12… I’ve been stuck in a dark room trying to get the baby back to sleep for over 2 hours who I had to wake in order to do school drop off, I haven’t eaten since lunch time yesterday, and I really need to shit.
And look, if you’re here - you know me. I know my followers aren’t here for “bounce back” inspo or “how I crushed my 5am HIIT workout with a newborn” reels. That’s just not me. You’re more likely to find me bouncing Essie on my hip braless while eating toast over the sink and hoping no one notices I’ve worn the same vomit covered pyjamas for 3 days in a row.
I wish I was joking, but I’m currently typing this with my left hand as Essie woke up as I was trying to wrap it up. I have half a face of makeup on - Makeup by Floss - as she’s home sick from school, and I somehow need to go get Bobby in the next 25 mins from school. I did manage to get a walk in today, but not really because I actually wanted to. Because Essie has forgotten what sleep during the day is and my head nearly exploded being stuck home inside again.
Do you think after a day like this I’m dying to go work out? Absolutely not… and that’s ok.
I’m not the gym junkie mum. I’m hoping I can be the relatable one. The one trying her best to eat well , move when I can (which is rare), and not completely lose myself in the chaos. The one choosing self-kindness and knowing that my little girl needs my constant attention right now.
So if you’re in this season too with me… the squishy, no-time-for-you season or even the simply ‘I can’t be fucked’ season — just know that I see you. You don’t need a timeline. You don’t need a transformation photo. You’re not behind. You’re doing amazing. You’re raising tiny humans and trying to keep yourself sane. That is enough.
