The Muck and the Sadness

I love pictures. Anyone who knows me has probably had their pic snapped by me on numerous occasions. Unfortunately, like most modernists, I keep all of these shots in some digital universe, forever suspended and susceptible to loss (which has happened on numerous occasions). This year it is my goal to make actual physical copies (along with multiple backups).

The first step toward my goal was to arrange an album of Ripley's first year. I knew this would be an uphill climb. I took thousands of pictures that year. I had to pick favorites, arrange, edit, rearrange and edit some more. What didn't occur to me, was that I would be dredging up the bottom of the sadness pool. Once again revisiting pregnancy, hope, loss, pain, and the most supreme joy. What a fun rollercoaster to hop back on (all sarcasm intended).

Album decisions. Do I start with pregnancy? Birth? Do I include ultrasound pictures? How about belly pictures that say "twins". If yes, then do I add dead baby pics. A Mia page? What about excerpts from the mommy blog? A choice on whether to tell an honest account, or glaze over the reality, so whoever looks at the album doesn't have to start with the sadness. Hard decisions.

I decided to go with truth. Not simple or pleasant, but a part of us.

First page: all the internal pictures. Baby A, Baby B, growing together. Second page: preggo pictures, happiness and expectation. Third page: Mia. Full on dead baby page. And I feel like I need to add words, which I can't do yet, so I have skipped ahead for now.

Whew. After that was decided the pages filled themselves. So many cute and adorable pictures of the first months. Then smiles and milestones. Visits from family, visits to home. Somewhere in the middle I started to think of my childhood albums. One of my favorite parts of old paste albums is being able to lift up the pic and read the caption. So I went back through and started to annotate certain pics. Then I thought, maybe I should add memories from my thoughts at the time. Then I delved back into this blog and it stirred the sludge into a whirlpool of muck.

Le sigh. I am a happy mother. I am a grateful mother. I am so totally in love every day. But even with that I still get stuck. Sometimes I need to remind myself that even though sadness can weigh me down, my head is above water and I can feel the sun.

Body Dismorphia

Like most women I am hard on myself. I get ready in the morning mostly avoiding the mirror or shuffling past it quickly. I read articles about self-esteem and body love. I am aware of the constant struggle we face with media and photoshopping and the unattainable perfection that surrounds us. My brain tells me it's smoke and mirrors, but I still find myself trying to reach some mysterious body goal.

 I don't exercise enough, I enjoy cocktails, and although I tend to eat mostly vegetarian, burgers and fries cross these lips on occasion. My pre-pregnancy jeans fit me, but a lot tighter than I'd like. I suppose I could buy a larger pair, but I refuse. For the last year my weight has plateaued at 20 pounds above my comfort zone. I wouldn't say I'm fat, but chubby, curvy, and jiggly, all fit the bill.

Yesterday, I visited some good friends to take maternity pictures. The mama is one of my "avatar" friends, tall, german and naturally gorgeous. She has this beautiful baby tummy without any stretch marks at all. We took a bunch of shots, and in the this world of instant digital gratification, she looked at the proofs on my camera. First reaction: "look at how chunky my arms are"! See how we react? It's ridiculous.

Our bodies are amazing. We grow humans. From nothing. Bones, and nerves and blood and skin. It all comes together inside of us.

Last night I looked into the mirror intentionally. My hips are rounded. My belly is softer. Not fatter, but less elastic. When pregnant I had deep purple ravines on my belly. My poor skin was stretched so tight trying to make room. Almost magically those marks have faded, the texture is different, but they are the same color as my skin again. Just a faint memory of the babies inside. I no longer have a girl's body. I have a mama's body. And I am gonna love it.

Two babies or a beach ball, hard to guess.

2 years post twins. Photoshop used to fix color and crop out my bed head (after I wrote this I had a tiny window of self-assuredness that I had to seize before I chickened out).