Maybe it is because the marathon is over and I have a large amount of time that has been freed up due to the lack of training, which has given me more time to think. As fast as my negative body image went away, it decided to make a return with an evil vengeance.

My sister and I had a conversation a few weeks back about our biggest insecurities and issues. One of my biggest is my body, which as you all know by now, was exacerbated by the number that my pregnancy did on it. No matter what anyone tells me, I will always feel inferior. It seems that no matter how hard I work out, I still can't achieve the body aesthetics that I think "look good".

I have always been a perfectionist. I am not sure exactly where it started. Many people will argue that first-born children tend to be more "Type A". I would have to agree with this. As a child (just ask my mom!), I was always the best behaved, super-organized, and most responsible child of the bunch. I started ballet classes at a very early age and was taught that discipline and structure were two of the most important keys to success in life. I remember my dance teacher inspecting our lunches as we waited between classes or rehearsals. She would throw out food that she thought was going to make us fat even though I weighed under 100 lbs until I was a junior in high school, I felt like I had to adhere to those strict standards of eating throughout my teenage years. Getting into running junior/senior year of high-school kept me rail thin, or maybe it was the combination of being cross-country captain, track captain, school VP, school leadership member, honor society member, dance team captain, and the prom queen. I didn't really have any time to eat or obsess over my body. It just was what it was, but I was fine with it. I NEVER "partied" or got into trouble even though I was friendly and well-liked by most of the people at school including the most popular and the least popular.

Once I got to college, I did what you might refer to as rebel against my "miss perfect" lifestyle. I drank very heavily, ate total crap (and lots of it), didn't exercise, hooked up with random guys, and started getting bad grades because I either didn't go to class or I fell asleep during it. As a result, I gained a lot of weight freshman year. So much weight, if fact, that if you were to look at the picture on my college ID and a look at a picture of my taken last week, you would swear that it was not the same person. When I started dating my husband, I had settled down a bit and lost weight and although I wasn't the specimen of fitness, I had youth on my side.

In my mid-late 20s I started running a lot more and got into racing, marathoning, and healthy eating. My husband and I went to the gym almost every day of the week...together. He would go lift weights and I would do some cardio and light-weights. I would eat bags of veggies for lunch and cut-out all harmful fats and sweeteners. Looking back on pictures of myself during that time now, I think I looked really great. The best in my whole life, actually. Muscular, but lean. I remember a high school classmate commenting on a FB picture that I had posted and him saying how great I looked at that time. I ate that up, but deep down I didn't necessarily believe him. I could always look a little better.

Enter the world of miscarriage and infertility. Thinking that we would pop out a baby by the age of 30 due to our super-healthy-lifestyles turned out to be a total mind f*ck.  I gained weight, lost muscle, lost pride and self-respect while trying to have a child.  I started to really loathe my body in a way that went much deeper than its outside appearance.  I can remember the absolute darkest day of my life.  I had just gotten home after finding out that I was losing my 3rd pregnancy.  I called my mom hysterically crying telling her that I wanted to die.  It was hard to get words out to express everything, but I know that she was incredibly concerned.  I was so angry with my body.  I remember thinking that I would so much rather be dead than have to deal with this again.  I got into bed and put the covers over my head and wished so hard that I would not wake up.  That was the absolute worst and lowest day of my life.  I had never hated my body more.

Thinking that finally having a baby would fix all of my body-hating issues has proved to be untrue.  While my body finally decided to allow a child to grow successfully, it was not without lots of permanent "bruises" and battle scars.  I will never be able to get back to my 20-something body because, no matter how hard I try, I have imperfections that either can't be fixed at all or can only be fixed with expensive "cosmetic" surgery.  I am constantly reminded of what I won't have again when I am bombarded with images of the super-fit (and young or gifted in the gene department) women on a regular basis. 

Last weekend was the perfect storm of body-hating resurgence.  A huge "party" at my husband's CrossFit gym in which several (as my husband refers to them as) CrossFit pin-up ladies were in attendance (Google if you are interested in what this means).  They were all scantily clad in sports bras and almost see-through spandex booty shorts, sporting golden tans, washboard abs, doing squats and hand-stand pushups while all of the guys, including my husband, and all the girls for that matter, had to clean up the drool that landed on the floor beneath them.  My MIL, who came at my husband's urging, loudly proclaimed that all of those women were "gross and manly" and she would "never want to look like them".  Even though several people around us gave her the stink-eye, she got a few extra points in my book.  One of the pin-ups, who I found out was recently married, was shamelessly flirting with several guys.  Other married guys were flirting with other ladies that were in attendance.  The whole thing made me so uncomfortable.  I could not get out of there fast enough, not to mention I stuck out like a super modest sore thumb wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

Why am I comparing myself to these women that I wouldn't even really want to look like?  Maybe it is because I know that my husband thinks they are hot and I feel like I don't even come close to looking like them.  Maybe it is because I feel so self-conscious when naked and don't enjoy having sex like I could be because I feel terrible about the way my body looks.  I feel like they look so perfect and so they must have perfect (sex) lives, which I know deep-down isn't true, but I still can't shake the negative thoughts and the idea that things must be perfect for them because they look perfect.

Once again, another evening was corrupted with a heated discussion about CrossFit and how much I hate it last night.  The time commitment, the obsession, the overwhelming amount of super-fit 20 something women that work out 24/7 and put their bodies and looks above (seemingly) anything else in life that seem to want to wreck good homes.

I stopped therapy in the summer because it wasn't helping.  Maybe the therapist wasn't for me.  I'm not sure.  The thing is, I know what the issue is.  It is deep-rooted insecurity of my whole self with my body image being one of the top contributors.  I always feel like I am somehow not good enough.  I am not pretty enough or hot enough and somewhere deep down I worry that my husband might come to realize this someday and leave me because of it.  What I fail to factor into this scenario is the fact that my husband (obviously) married me for more than my physical self because there is so much more to life that how you look.  When we die, our bodies stay here and decompose.  No one is going to be stunningly gorgeous or having amazing washboard abs that guys fawn over when they turn 80 years old.  I mean come on, that is reality.  What will endure until death is personality, wit, humor, etc.  I just need to keep reminding myself of this when I start to get into that loop of negative self-talk.  I need to build up my self-esteem that my years dealing with body-betrayal took away from me.    After all, could one of those pin-ups run a difficult marathon in 3.5 hours with 30 mph head winds after a broken nights sleep (nursing an 18 month old)?  My body may not be perfect ever, but it can surely rise to the call of duty when it has to.           

Yesterday I was having one of those days where I was really feeling like throwing in the towel on the whole blog thing.  Why do I continue writing?  It takes up precious time and I oftentimes struggle with what to actually wrote.  I am not sure that many people are still reading other than the person who Googles and randomly stumbles upon one of my posts related to: "does CrossFit cause divorce?", "diastasis recti", or "do long cycles cause miscarriage?".  If I pulled my blog out of the blogisphere today, would anyone know or even care?

Since I started blogging, back in the spring of 2012, my content and tone have changed quite a bit.  I have gone from a very bitter and jaded "baby-less" person that blogged about miscarriage, temping, and pee-sticks to a mommy that blogs about her post-baby body self-esteem, running, and CrossFit issues.  The pre-baby and post-baby blogs are almost completely different audience types and, with the exception of people who have been following me for a while and have gone through similar circumstances, I am not sure how many new and regular readers I have.  What is the point of continuing?  For my own personal health and well-being?  If that was the case, couldn't I just write everything down in a private journal?  I seriously ask myself this all of the time.

Yesterday, I remembered to check my blog email box for the first time in several months.  Besides mounds of spam from people trying to get me to give them a shout out or let them "guest post", I had a few emails from a few different women who were writing to seek my advice regarding situations that they were in right now that I had once been in.  I was reminded of why I continue to keep my blog and the associated email box going.  For as many people that no longer follow me and read my posts, there continue to be a few people who come across my blog that find it helpful and comforting.  They have found themselves in an unfortunate position and the cosmic powers of Google have brought them to my tiny little space where they have been able to read about what I have gone through, relate either somewhat or completely, and apply things that I learned or tried to help them with their situations.  I seriously love that I am able to help even just one person a year because that is one less person who feels like they are dealing with a similar issue, alone.

One thing that a lot of these women that write to me have in common (and definitely how I once felt) is that they are alone in their situations and in their feelings about their situation.  They feel like the time is going so slowly and that they will never "be on the other side".  I am sure that there will always be extenuating circumstances that will make it medically impossible (for one reason or another) for someone who has miscarried many times, to have a child.  That said, out of all of the women who have ever taken the time to write to me personally, I cannot think of one that has followed up with me, that has not be able to eventually have a baby...somehow.  This makes me so happy.

I know that I currently don't have anyone's "permission" to anonymously post their story (and would NEVER do so unless I was given permission), but I would really love to share some stories of other ladies, who have been in similar shoes to my own, on my blog.  Maybe once a month or every other month or something like that.  I think that reading stories of others that have "been through it" helps those that are "still going through it" actually get through it.  Having some hope is half the battle and if I can provide hope to others by sharing positive stories, I am doing a world of good.

The results from the body image survey that I posted a few weeks back are below.  Apologies for the poor formatting.  Before I have B, I would have put this in a sleek PowerPoint presentation.  These days, I am lucky to get the results out at all!

I have comments on the results, which I am not going to post here, but in a different post.  I also have updates to my "CrossFit causing relationship issues saga" which I will also post about separately.

Post-baby Body Image Survey Results
Thanks to everyone who took the survey!  

I feel like I have written about this subject a ton since I gave birth almost 14 months ago, but it is still something that I am struggling with on a daily basis.  I guess I was naive when I thought that things would go back to the way that they were with my body before having a baby.  I mean, come on, this is what Hollywood portrays as the norm.  Have a baby, then 6 weeks later, be spotted, Starbucks iced beverage in hand, walking with a baby stroller in short shorts and a cute top showing off your trim mid-section.  I thought that I would be one of those women (cough, cough, Kristin Cavallari) that would bounce back, weeks after giving birth.  I thought that if I lost the "baby weight" and exercised that everything would go back to being pretty again.  What I am finding out is that no matter how hard I work, my body is not cooperating.  It has no intention of returning to my pre-baby form.  Call me an ungrateful bitch, but I am having a serious struggle accepting this concept.

Before you complete that rolling of the eyes, let me explain something.  I am not complaining about my weight.  I eat healthy and I am very active so I do not currently have a problem in this area.  Since I have had B, I have lost all of my "baby weight" and then some due to my, sometimes compulsive and always regular, need to exercise.  What I am struggling with are the other after effects of pregnancy and child-birth, the loose belly skin, the indents and marks, the herniated belly button, and most of all the diastasis recti.  These things don't seem to be able to be helped with diet/exercise and this drives me insane.

Let me describe to you what I mean...

Last weekend was one of the first warm weekends that we have had.  It is finally shorts and flip-flops weather, something that I have classically looked forward to.  We had a birthday party to go to for one of my friend's kids and about an hour before the party, I started getting ready.  I changed into a pair of button up shorts and a striped, loose t-shirt, so as not to accentuate my stomach area.  I didn't have time to straighten my hair, so I pinned it back in a bun.  I put on some blush and mascara.  Tah Dah...ready to go.  Right?  WRONG.  This is the point where things started to go wrong.

Looking in the mirror, nothing looked good to me.  I looked like I was dressed like a "mom", something that I told myself that I would never do.  In a haste, I started going through my drawer for something else to wear, something that wouldn't make me look older than I am.  I put on a more form fitting shirt and a pair of shorts that were a little shorter.  Ugh there was my protruding belly button and pronounced belly sticking out.  I put on another t-shirt over the first one in an effort to play down everything, but then I was hot.  I started getting upset and ripped off the outfit and frantically went searching for something else.  I must have tried on 3-4 different outfits before collapsing into a heap of tears on the floor out of frustration.  Nothing I owned looked good on my body.  My hair was a frizzy, broken, mess from putting it in a bun so much.  I felt gross and unattractive.  I felt frustrated that all of the exercise and healthy diet is doing nothing to help me look better.

My husband, who had the baby, heard the ruckus that I was making and came up to check on me.  He asked me what was wrong and I told him exactly how I felt.  I am still struggling with my post-baby body.  I still haven't accepted it as the new normal.  I am still hoping (and praying) that some morning I will wake up and will not be able to see my gastrointestinal tract working though the huge gap in my stomach muscles.  I am still hoping that one day I will feel comfortable being naked again and even the slightest bit...sexy.    

I know that I am my own worst enemy here.  I am incredibly critical about how my body looks.  I hold myself to an extremely high standard.  I am constantly comparing myself to other women.  She had a baby recently...do I look better than her?  It is exhausting.  I don't think it helps that my husband is constantly working out with younger, beautiful, and really in shape women who have either never had children, or are in the very-lucky-to-have-bounced-back-unscathed-from-pregnancy category.  Even though I think that my husband and i have a high level of communication in our marriage and my husband is constantly telling me that I am beautiful (and hot...haha), I am still insanely jealous of those women.  I feel like I will never be able to get back that six-pack of abs that I once had and see these women at CrossFit competitions proudly displaying.

I'm not sure what to do.  Surgery?  Constantly wear compression gear and belly binders?  Resign myself to the fact that I will always have to wear two t-shirts?  See a therapist?  Continue with my weekly break-downs?  Give up?  I don't know what to do and I feel like I am alone.  I haven't heard any of my friends who have had kids ever make any mention that they feel like this so I have no idea if this is a common thing or not.  Maybe I am incredibly vain?  Maybe I should count myself lucky that this is my biggest post-pregnancy complaint?  I mean there are always worse things that could be wrong with me.  Why can't I just accept things and try to move past?  I have a wonderful healthy son.  Should I just accept that this was the price that I had to pay?

I created an anonymous survey on this topic.  If you have 2 minutes, please fill it out.  I am really interested in knowing if I am the only one who has these kinds of feelings or if this truly is an issue that many women deal with.  Thank you!

The last time I seriously ran, since starting again post-baby, was in the winter of 2010.  The year of 2010 had been "my year"; the best year of running in my life.  I had gotten my 5k time down below 21 minutes (fastest being 20:51) and had gotten several first place age group finishes in local races.  I was running 35-40 miles a week and I felt great.  I was doing lots of structured runs, intervals, progressions, tempos, long runs.  It was great.  Life was good.  I don't think I had an ounce of body fat (ok, maybe an ounce).  

At the beginning of 2011, I started dialing back my training to around 30 miles a week and started getting "healthy" in preparation for pregnancy.  At that time, I had no idea how hard it was going to be for me to actually have a baby.  When I got pregnant so easily the first time, I had visions of jogging until 40 weeks and then getting into race shape the following summer.  We all know that those plans went to shit.  No one plans for a miscarriage.

Instead of continuing running, I cut way back after my first miscarriage and stopped racing.  I thought maybe my high intensity workouts had somehow caused my miscarriages.  Well apparently cutting back more, didn't help and I had another miscarriage.  Even though my doctor said the running wasn't what was causing my miscarriages, I still continued scaling back until I was barely running at all.  Ummm yeah then I had another miscarriage, at which time I was urged by various individuals (psychologists, acupuncturists, family members, & friends) to STOP running at all.  So I listened to them, thinking that they must be right.  I gained about 10 lbs and lost all of my cardiovascular shape and any muscular definition that I had left after scaling back so much.  Friends, I was miserable.  Mentally.  Physically.

Running has been a huge part of my life.  I started running when my parents moved me out of state junior year.  I joined the cross-country team to make friends and partially because my mom forced me to do at least 1 sport.  Since I wasn't very coordinated, I decided running would be my best bet.  I took to it pretty easily, although I could have tried a whole heck of a lot harder and been a lot better (in hindsight).  I liked running so much that I did track that spring.  Senior year of high school, I was the captain of both the cross-country and track teams.  Finally, something I was decent at that I liked!

During college I didn't run as much as I should because I was either partying or hungover (freshman year) or working (sophomore-senior year).  I ran to run off stress and to try to shed the several pounds that I gained from drinking so much freshman year.

After college, I started running more for exercise and to stay in shape.  At first I ran mostly outside because I couldn't afford a gym membership.  Then once my (now) husband and I got established and could afford the gym, I ran at the gym in addition to cross-training.  

In 2006, when my Dad passed away unexpectedly, I ran to stay sane.  I was sad, angry, and  confused.  Somehow, running helped me understand everything.  I would be pissed at the world, strap on my sneakers, and figure everything out while pounding the pavement.

I ran so much after my Dad died, that I decided that I could run a marathon.  I ran one marathon and then another from 2007-2008  I was logging a ton of miles.  I started getting burned out.  It was around this time that I started getting hurt.  Shin splints turned into a stress fracture.  I got runner's knee and then patella tendinitis.  I went to physical therapy.  I was told I had flat feet and got orthotics.  Then I got piriformis syndrome.  I was a mess.  My body was tired and broken down.  I took a break before starting back up after getting married.

In mid-2008 I started actually training again.  I started attending various running programs with a well known local coach.  He was awesome.  I made some really great friends and got better at running.  I changed my shoes and stopped always wearing seriously structured shoes and wore lighter weight shoes for shorter and faster runs.  By 2010, I was in awesome shape and, as mentioned, had my best year.

2011 through mid-2013 happened.  The good, the bad, and the incredibly ugly.  The body that I was left with in April was the epitome of out-of-shape.  Running was so hard.  At first running even for a minute left me completely exhausted and feeling defeated.  My body felt foreign and loose, like my organs (and boobs) were bouncing around.  Totally gross.  I started gradually increasing the length of my intervals until I was running a mile without stopping.  Then I started gradually adding incremental amounts of distance until I was running 3 miles at about a 10 minute per mile pace.  Depressing, yes, but better than not being able to run at all.

Once I got back to about 3 miles, I did something I shouldn't have and I started running with the baby in the B.O.B.  He was under the recommended age, but had good head/neck control.  I bolstered him with rolled up towels and ran only on smooth surfaces.  Running with that jogging stroller made my challenging 3 mile runs even more challenging.

Once I got comfortable with 3 mile distances I decided to do the next logical thing, train and run for a half-marathon.  Ha ha.  I'm obviously kidding.  Who does that, right?  Jumps from 3 miles, 4 months post baby to a half?  This girl, that's who.  I slowly worked my way back up to 10-12 mile runs with 2-3 other shorter & faster runs mid-week and ran that half-marathon in 1:46 (8:05 pace).

It was then that the race bug bit me, again, and I decided to start running some shorter races and work on my speed.  Between the half-marathon and now, I have run two other races, a 5 mile and a 5k.  I have shocked myself in those races.  The 5 mile I finished in 35:38 (7:08 pace), this was not far off from my 5 mile PR of 35:37 (ha one sec, but who's counting right?).  I finished my 5k in 20:59 (6:49 pace), which is not far from my PR of 20:51.

So what am I doing that has caused me to get so fast, so quickly?  Pretty much by doing everything that you aren't supposed to do.

-Running 3-5 miles at a time,4 days a week at the most, equaling less than 20 miles a week.
-Running most runs at an 8:30-9 min pace.
-Running mostly on the treadmill at zero incline.
-Not sleeping more than 4 hours at a time, consecutively, each night.
-Doing CrossFit 2-3 days a week.
-Being lucky to get in the proper amount of calories because I am always running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

While I was running in my last 5k race, I started to feel pain around 2.5 miles.  My legs felt heavy and my chest ached from breathing the cold air so rapidly.  I thought to myself, "This is nothing".  Compared to all of the crap I went through to get a sticky pregnancy.  All the crap that I went through during pregnancy, labor and delivery.  All the crap that I went through immediately following the birth of B.  Now that was real pain.  Running fast, pushing myself up and down hills and across a finish line...pssssh.  That is nothing compared to what I have put my body through over the past 2 years.

So to anyone who is thinking that they will never get back to where they were before they had a baby...it might not necessarily be true.  In fact, you might be able to come back and be better and stronger with less training (intensity/volume).  Mental toughness is half the battle and friends, many or you have been through the ringer.  Our bodies may not look exactly the same.  They may not feel the same.  We may have scars and changes that we don't necessarily love, but we have fought through, persevered and we have won.  Now we can whoop everyone's butts out on the race course.

Anyone else find that they are in better shape, post-infertility/loss/baby?

This past weekend, my husband and I packed up the baby and dog and headed off to the beach for a mini-vacation.  The car was so packed that you could not see out the back window.  The poor dog, who has been banished to the way back since the baby came along, had barely any room with the baby bath constantly sliding into his tiny space.  It was an experience, that's for sure.  Something that only practice could perfect.

It was our first family trip and it was nothing like I expected.  I figured that we'd be relaxing on the beach or hiking in a park, but we really didn't have much time to do that.  Neither of us realized how much time our baby normal routine would take us in a different location.  Basically, it was the same stuff we do at home with less supplies at hand.

All things aside, we did have a really nice time hanging out as a family.  The dog was in his element at the beach and was probably a little confused that he was getting some attention once again.  Hi favorite things in life are the beach, tennis balls, and carrots.  He got to experience all three of those things in mass quantities this past weekend.  A little slice of "doggy heaven" for our poor neglected son dog.  

On Friday morning, my husband, the baby, the dog and I set out for a 4 mile jog.  The weather was pristine and the path was smooth and accommodating.  We did the run at a 9 minute per mile pace, which felt slow, but the dog was really laboring.  I had to keep bribing him with the promise of carrots for the last mile.

On Saturday morning we left the dog at home so that we could accomplish something together that we have never done before.  We were going to run 12 miles with the baby in the jogger.  My husband decided to sign up for a half marathon with me later this fall, so in order to do that we need to make sure 12 miles is something that we could accomplish.  I had done 10 the previous weekend so I knew I could do it, but my husband was a little less confident.

We packed up the B.O.B. with emergency supplies: diapers, wipes, changing pad, extra clothes for B, disposable diaper bags, coconut water (for us) and power jelly beans (for us) and then headed off.

My husband and I switched off pushing the stroller every 2 miles.  The route was pretty flat and very scenic.  My husband and I chatted while we ran.  It was so nice to be doing this with him.  It can get quite lonely running by yourself for so long.  It was a nice way to connect with him without any other distractions.

Here are our split times, courtesy of MapMyRun MVP:

Mile 1- 8:53
Mile 2- 8:45
Mile 3- 8:51
Mile 4- 8:39
Mile 5- 8:43
Mile 6- 8:48
Mile 7- 8:57
Mile 8- 8:54
Mile 9- 8:37
Mile 10- 9:00
Mile 11- 8:50
Mile 12- 9:18
extra .19 miles- 8:57

Overall pace average was 8:54 minutes per mile (faster than our 4 miler!).

My husband started to fade at mile 10.  I think our mile 9 might have done him in.  I was really proud of him, though.  It was his longest run ever and he really hasn't been running a whole lot lately.  I give some credit to CrossFit here.  Had it not been for CrossFit, he never in a million years would have signed up for a half marathon and run 12 miles to train for it.  

I felt strong the entire time.  I could have gone faster and/or gone longer.  It was a really great feeling.  I actually felt proud of my body for a change.  In the past 5 months, I have gone from 167 lbs down to 120ish.  I have started running again and gone from being out of breath in less than a mile (at a snails pace) to being able to run 12 miles at a pace that is faster than most average runners can sustain AND have the handicap of a jogging stroller.  I have gone from super flabby to toned, once again.  I'm slowly getting back there.  It is just taking a lot longer than I had imagined it in my silly little head.

Speaking of jogging stroller, our little future marathoner did great for the 1 hour and 48 minutes that were were on the road.  He was up and babbling for the first 1/2 and then took a nice nap for the second half.  We didn't even use any of our emergency supplies that we brought!

I think this trip and the run were great for more reasons that one.  Even though B didn't sleep and much of our time went to his normal care-taking, we all had a really nice time.  I appreciate my husband more for deciding to run with me.  I appreciate my baby for letting us run with him.  Despite its shortcomings, I appreciate my mind and body.  They are way stronger than I give them credit for.    

This is a tough subject for me to write about because I am still struggling with my "new" post-baby body.  I struggled while I was pregnant at times, but I think it has been more difficult since little B arrived.  I am almost 14 1/2 weeks out and I still have a sizable mommy pooch, although it is definitely smaller than it was just a month ago.  By the time late afternoon rolls around, I look like I am about 4-5 months pregnant.  It is really depressing until I look at my amazing little miracle boy (I added a pic of him) and then I feel a little bit better.

I have been in physical therapy for my diastasis recti for several weeks now and I was doing so well with it.  I had gone from a 4 finger separation to an almost 2 finger separation.  I had exercises that I was doing every night until I started back to work last week.  Something had to give and unfortunately, it was the PT exercises.  I have been vowing to get back to them this week because I really think they are working and I really love my physical therapist.  She is so nice and helpful and she believes that I can get back most of my pre-baby shape.   

Last night was the first night that I got a chance to go to the gym.  B has gone down to sleep at 6:30 PM for the past 2 nights so, I crammed myself into my bathing suit (it was a tight squeeze) and scurried out as fast as I could once I knew that my husband was armed with the video monitor and the Angelcare monitor. I planned on doing the pool exercises that my physical therapist had given me in the 4 ft section of the pool.  Too bad that there were 30, 10 year old Asian exchange students using that same section of pool.  I got splashed, my borrowed workout gear (kick-board, foam weights, noodle) was stolen, and I was asked all sorts of questions about what I was doing by a 5 year old girl.  Normally I would have been totally peeved, but I was able to keep a smile and continue my workout.  I was there, working out, and that's all that mattered.

When I look at my stomach in the mirror I really don't like what I see and I feel guilty that I don't like what I see.  I should be ecstatic that I have my healthy baby boy and not focusing on my stupid lack of abs.  My linea negra is still very pronounced and I have so many indentations from the stretching.  I am not sure if they are stretch marks or not because they have no color, but regardless, they are unsightly.  My brown belly button has almost disappeared, thank God!  My c-section scar is slightly pink, but no longer as dark and pronounced as it was.  The feeling is s...l...o...w...l...y coming back to that area.

Speaking of the feeling coming back to that area...  While actual feeling may be coming back, there is nothing else going on down there.  My husband and I have tried twice (unsuccessfully) to have sex since the baby was born.  I am not sure it is lack of lubrication due to breastfeeding and birth control or if I have some scar tissue and adhesions, but sex was so freaking painful I wanted to cry.  Not to mention I have absolutely no sex drive, AT ALL.  I am now scared to even try which makes things oh so much more enjoyable!  I figured that having a c-section would make this a non-issue, but I was totally wrong!  I think we'll give it one more try and if I am still in pain, then off to the GYN it is.  I haven't seen them since my second miscarriage.  They don't even know that I was pregnant and had a baby.  That will be an interesting conversation. 

I also keep messing up the birth control pill.  I took that damn thing for 10 years straight at 12 PM EVERY DAY and I only ever screwed it up one time that I can remember because I forgot the pack at home.  With this pill, I have screwed up so many times already.  I forget to take it 3-4 times a month.  Not good for someone who, medically, should not get pregnant again for at least another 8 months. 

Still no period yet.  I have had some EWCM, several times and have been crampy and bloated, but still no period.  I am quite ok with that.  It is weird that the start of my last period was July 5, 1012.  I haven't had a period in over a year!

I haven't weighed myself in a few weeks, but I'd guess that I am back to around 128 lbs.  Still not at my goal weight, but I am still breastfeeding and that is by far more important to me that losing the weight right away.  I'd rather continue feeding my baby then look like Giselle (ok I'll never look like her, but I think you catch my drift!).

Here is a pic of me now, 14 1/2 weeks out.  I still have a ways to go, but when I compare it with a  few months ago, I feel a lot better.  Any one else with post-baby body issues that feels totally guilty about it?