The Worst Best Day of My Life

A few weeks back, I stepped into our local shop for a few things after going for a walk on my own. It had been a calm, dark evening and the rain had only just begun. There I was, standing in the baby food aisle, grabbing rice cakes and apple juice sweetened biscuits, listening to my iPod on shuffle, when out of nowhere - the familiar first notes of a track I had listened to hundreds of times while pregnant, began to play. My gentle birth affirmations. I panicked. I swear, everyone around me stopped to stare. The store went black. Everything started to go hazy, I felt my face contort in pain and searing heat rush up from my chest to strangle my neck. I dropped what was in my hands and rapidly fished my iPod out of my pocket to press stop. Not here. Not now. I haven't heard those words since...since...since...I took my headphones out of my ears and looked around. No one was staring. The lights were normal, bright. I picked up my items, paid, walked back into the rain and stood there for a few moments. The pace of my heart quickened and I dared myself. Listen, listen. It's been nearly a year. So I pressed play. And as those memorized words began their familiar, repeated chant....I am calm, confident, and in control. I am having a gentle birth. I trust my body, I trust my baby...I felt my chest heave and my shoulders drop, my steps deliberately slowed despite the rain and I listened. I listened. And the pain of it all soaked me to the bone.

I trust my body, I trust my baby. So why did it all go so wrong?

***

I had always known I would one day have children. I thought about it often. I never really gave much thought to giving birth though, so when I did announce I was pregnant, a dear friend of mine asked if I had ever heard of Hypnobirthing. Originally, it sounded like a load of crap. So you take deep breaths...and it doesn't hurt? Right, sure. So millions....billions of women throughout history just had it all wrong? But the more I read, the more I listened to her story and so many others, the more I felt myself drawn towards the idea of a peaceful, calm birth. Our bodies are made to do this and there is science behind deep breathing and a calmed mind and positive thinking to back up the idea of hypnobirthing. So I dove in head first. I read the whole book in a couple days. I started listening to the daily affirmations and the practice birth session. I found a local woman that taught private hypnobirthing classes and took my somehow willing husband along to each three hour session. I made a vision board that hung in our bedroom that I stared at every morning and night while brushing my teeth. We did our own practices together at home, his words and hands and soft voice guiding me into such a relaxed state where I believed anything could be possible. Before I knew it, any fear I had about giving birth was completely and utterly gone and I found myself looking forward to and longing for the moment I would first feel my body go into labor. My hypnotherapist said in all her years, she had rarely seen such an enthusiastic, fully-believing, well-practiced couple. She knew we were ready. I knew we were ready. And as March 18th approached, my excitement and anticipation grew beyond measure. Any day now, any day now.

The due date came and went. It was a bank holiday Monday, after St. Patrick's Day. It was beautiful, sunny, warm...a rare day in March, in the West of Ireland. We went for a walk on the beach. We had fish and chips. We took pictures in the back garden of our house, of my gigantic belly. I had no worries yet. It's so unlikely for a baby to come on the actual due date. The Tuesday passed with no sign of her either and the Wednesday found me in the maternity clinic for my last check up. I mentioned to all the midwives, "I want to go naturally. I'm going to use hypnobirthing. No drugs. I want the homebirthing suite in the hospital. I'm so excited!" The doctor had me lay down for an internal examination. It hurt like hell. That's gotta be a good sign, right? "You're still very closed up in there," were her exact words. Very medically descriptive. As we sat at her desk, she pulled out a date book and started looking through the days. "So, I can fit you in on Monday for an induction."

My mouth dropped. I shook my head. I was utterly confused. "Oh, I don't want to be induced. I want to go into labor naturally. I'm going to use hypnobirthing so I want it to be drug and chemical free. That's very important to me." She told me that the hospital would only allow me to go 10 days past my due date and the Monday had the only opening that week for an induction. I asked if she could give me a membrane sweep to at least help get things started and she informed me, without even looking up from that date book, that that's what she had just done. I was shocked. She hadn't asked me. I hadn't consented to that. I wouldn't have said no. But they're supposed to ask. And that's when I first felt it...this tiny spot of darkness on my perfect plan, a wisp of doubt. This isn't how it's supposed to be happening.

My sisters would be arriving from the States to meet the baby in just a week. Did I actually have the time to wait for her to come on her own? They were leaving their own babies to be with me and mine and she had to be here. She had to come by then. So I sealed my fate. I let the doctor put my name down for that 2pm induction slot on Monday, March 25th, a mere week after my due date. And that wisp of doubt grew and grew until it was the size of a storm cloud, blocking out the peace and calm I had been feeling for the entire pregnancy, letting the fear run wild.

Thursday. Friday. Saturday. I scrubbed the kitchen and dining room floors on my hands and knees, that position being ideal for encouraging baby to move downwards. I listened to awful pop music at insane decibels and danced like I wasn't carrying around an extra 40 pounds. I nearly ate an entire batch of "labor inducing cookies" and then had spicy curry for dinner. There's still time, she can still come on her own. Sunday. And still nothing. That night, my friend that had recommended the hypnobirthing called me and told me, "Don't go to the hospital tomorrow. You don't have to do it. You can refuse to be induced." I was convinced. I knew it wasn't time yet. It didn't feel right. But my sisters...they were coming...

I have had a lot of internal civil wars in my life, but this one? This one was ripping me apart. My birth plan was fading away and I felt the urgency of my sisters' impending visit. It wasn't just that the baby needed to be there by the time they arrived, it's that I didn't want to waste any time in the hospital while they were here. So even if I waited to let her come on her own, I would be spending their holiday time stuck in a hospital with very little visiting hours and they would miss out on time with her anyway. If I went in for the induction, I could still be home within a day or two of them arriving. If I didn't do anything, who knows when she would come. I went to sleep that night willing my little girl to come. There's still time, my precious. There's still a few hours.

I woke up. Nothing. I called my mother and cried and cried. I took a shower and stared at my huge belly. And that's when I saw it...the tattoo on my arm...the words that had always helped me through these types of decisions, the words that allowed me to leave my entire life and family behind in America and move to start a life with my new husband in Ireland...

"let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear
so comes love"

I was naming my daughter after this poet, EE Cummings. And I had no choice but to let it all go and give in. So we packed the car with our hospital bags, took one last walk along the promenade, and drove to the hospital.

And nothing went right after that.

***

If I went into all the details, you'd be here forever, reading. But the point of this is to get it all out. So bear with me.

I had been told to arrive at 2pm sharp. I sat in the waiting room till well after 4 before finally being called in to be seen. I was hooked up to the fetal heart-rate monitor but the midwife found it nearly impossible to get a consistent heart rate from the baby. She ended up standing there for over an hour, holding it to my belly, trying to get a straight 20 minute read without interruption. I asked if this was normal, for her to stay there like that. She laughed, "No. Definitely not." I mentioned to another midwife that my cycle had always been 35 days, not 28. "Couldn't that make my due date actually today, instead of last week?" She told me it didn't matter, they wouldn't let me go any later than tomorrow anyway, so might as well stay in and start the process tonight.

I was told there weren't any available beds, so I'd have to be sent back home. Then I was told they had a bed and I would be staying there. Back and forth, back and forth...Finally, back out in the waiting room, my husband joined me and we were taken to the bed I would end up spending way too much time in. It was in the post-natal ward. There were no available beds in the ward I should have been in, so I was put in a room with mothers that had just delivered their babies. I would get no sleep for the next two nights.

I was given four doses over the next 24 hours of a gel that was supposed to start contractions. I would have contractions for an hour or so, really painful ones, and then they would simply disappear. I was told to stay active, bounce on my ball. Then I was told, keep laying down, there's no point to moving around now. I was hooked up to the fetal heart-rate monitor for hours at a time, forced to drink water to keep the baby moving around, but not allowed to move so that they could get a decent reading...since the baby kept moving around. Twenty minute readings turned into three hours of laying and not moving. I thought I was going to go crazy. My wonderful husband became a professional at reading the print outs from the machine. He'd try and find a midwife to ask why I was still hooked up and if I could take a bathroom break. So I'd get up to use the toilet (all that water!!) and then have to lay back down to start it all over again. I will never understand why I was left for hours at a time hooked up to a machine that was supposed to take a 20 minute reading. It was torturous.

That Tuesday was a blur. I still had hope though. I was told the obvious, the gels didn't work, and they couldn't give me anymore. So Wednesday morning I'd be taken down to the labor ward regardless, and my waters would be broken. Finally, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Tomorrow. Tomorrow my baby will be born and all this waiting will be over.

I didn't sleep that night. I was brought my breakfast when it was still completely dark outside and none of the other mothers, or even the babies, had yet to stir. I quietly walked up and down the hallways with my husband, waiting to be brought down to the labor ward. Once I had arrived, I surveyed the room and finally felt a bit of peace, knowing here was where my baby would be born. My midwives were wonderful; smiley, friendly, cheery despite the morning hour. They broke my waters and I couldn't have been more excited. This had been what I was waiting for. Finally, labor. The contractions came fast and hard. I bounced on the birthing ball, breathing and chatting, closing my eyes occasionally to concentrate. My student midwife exclaimed, "You are doing an amazing job! These contractions are really strong, I can't believe you're just breathing and talking through them. The hypnobirthing can totally work for you!"

And then...the dreaded, awful, evil syntocinon drip. I will never forgive that drip. Once it was at its max, I felt like I couldn't see straight. The contractions were worse than I'd ever imagined. They came in clusters, one right after another and then another, and then a break for a few minutes. Then another cluster. I tried every position trying to find relief. I tried my breathing. Finally, standing against the bed, feeling like my legs were going to give out from underneath me, I knew I wasn't going to make it through. I asked to be examined in order to find out how long I had progressed.

"5 centimeters! You're halfway!" The midwife proclaimed. I took a few more breaths, looked at my husband, and then back at the midwife and asked for the epidural. I will always wonder if this was my big mistake...

Ahh, sweet, beautiful, wonderful, heavenly relief. Finally, after two days in that hospital, I felt my body relax. My eyes got droopy. I was exhausted. The midwives said, go ahead...sleep...you'll need the energy for pushing. So I nodded off, dozed in and out of consciousness, mindful of the midwife sitting right next to my bed, taking notes. My husband had gone for lunch. I was desperate for that sleep and I completely gave into it. I woke after a few hours and was examined again.

"Hmm, I think you're actually only 3 centimeters dilated," My midwife said. Well, that's not right. I'm supposed to be progressing, not going backwards. A doctor came in to examine me. "Yes, it seems you're only between 2 and 3 centimeters, you're closing up actually." Is that possible? Is it possible for one's cervix to so completely reject an induction that it closes up? I couldn't be hearing this. It didn't even make sense.

"Basically, your baby isn't going to come out like this. She's not even engaged in your pelvis yet, I can still push her around inside your uterus. So we'll have to take you in to surgery. You'll need a caesarean."

I remember crying immediately. I remember begging to be allowed to labor longer. I remember saying something about hypnobirthing, about my natural drug-free birth, about how this wasn't happening. But it was happening. The doctor told me he'd give me another hour to at least think about and accept the fact that I was going to be sectioned. Everyone left the room and it was just my husband and me. I felt powerless. I felt empty. I felt like a failure. My husband looked me in the eyes and said, "At least...at least this is all going to be over now. No more waiting. No more wondering. We're going to meet her so soon."

There were forms to sign ("potential side effects of surgery...paralyzation...death...") and then there I was, on a bed, unable to move from my epidural,  being wheeled feet-first through double doors into an operation room I never thought I'd have to be in. And a feeling so distinct and clear came over me. I've never felt it so strong before in my life. Fight or Flight. Every cell in my body wanted to run, but I couldn't even wiggle my toes. Every limb wanted to punch and kick and get out of there but it was impossible. I have never, ever, ever in my life felt such fear. It completely enveloped me. To be cut open...sliced open..., my innards moved around, my baby tugged from my body. This wasn't me. This wasn't happening to me.

I remember closing my eyes and the anesthesiologist demanding I answer his questions and pay attention. I remember saying, "I'm totally freaking out right now so I'm trying to do my hypnobirthing." My midwife grabbed my hand and told me it was ok, to keep doing that, to stay calm. When the spinal took effect, they must have been moving my legs because I had the sensation of them sticking straight up in the air for the entire surgery. It was all so quick. Numbness, arms splayed out like a crucifix, my husband at my head, my face itched like crazy and he rubbed it for me. And then, "Hello baby girl!" I heard one of the surgeons say. They quickly dropped the sheet protecting me from seeing my own insides and showed her to us quickly, and then she was straight into the incubator to keep her warm. I was desperate for a cuddle, for one touch or a close up look at least. She stayed in that incubator for nearly an hour while I was stitched back up and then there she was, in my arms in the recovery room, a nurse tugging my bare nipple into Estlin's mouth and my husband taking pictures.

I don't really remember anything more after that, of that first night. Vinnie couldn't stay with me and I couldn't move, so Estlin must have been in bed with me all night. I remember around 3 am being forced into the toilet to "wash up" even though I could barely stand, carrying with me my own bag of pee and shuffling through the darkness like a 90 year old woman. I vomited once I got to the bathroom. Let me just say, vomiting after being cut open near your abdomen? Ha. Give me labor pains any day. I seriously thought I was ripping myself open from the inside out.

My sisters arrived that next day and I was so insanely happy to see them. But because of the caesarean. I was stuck in that hospital for five more days. The first five days of their trip. So I still missed out on loads of time with them. Those five days are a complete blur of pain medication dosages, check ins with the lactaction consultant, cuddles and nappy changes, no sleep and no husband overnight, and a few visitors. I still have yet to enjoy marmalade on toast with tea again. And I cried when my husband finally drove us away, a whole eight days after I had arrived. I thought I was never going to be allowed to leave.

But my baby is healthy, beautiful, perfect. So why...why does any of this matter?

***

Nearly a third of all first time mothers end up in the OR for a caesarean here in Ireland. A third. Why is this happening? What is wrong with the maternity system that doctors are so quick to cut a baby out? Where has the trust gone that we are capable and aware and in-tune with our bodies? I completely lost trust in myself. I did everything right during my pregnancy. I maybe gained too much weight but my baby was born under 8 lbs, she was not too big and there was no medical reason whatsoever for me to be induced a mere week after my due date. That induction led directly to an unnecessary surgical procedure that could very well define the rest of the births I might have. Once you have a caesarean, you have a less than 10% chance of ever giving birth vaginally. And this is why, for me, my section has caused so much trauma. I can't imagine never giving birth. I can't imagine never knowing what natural labor feels like. I can't imagine only ever being cut up to get my baby out. These things are unimaginable to me. Yet this is my fate now. This is what I am left with. For something I never really thought that much about in my past, I am now completely obsessed with. Sometimes, out of nowhere, I'll think back to the entire experience, I'll find myself picturing those double doors opening again at the foot of my bed and I get chills, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. To end up there again...I don't know. I simply don't know what I would do, how I would heal again.

I was pregnant, and I have a baby, a beautiful, wonderful, happy, smiling, social, adorable, playful, adventurous,  full of laughter little girl but I did not give birth. I don't feel like I gave birth to her. She was cut out of me. I can't get over that. I can't get over that disconnect from pregnancy to motherhood. I missed a step. In my mind, I missed an incredibly important, fulfilling, and integral step to motherhood. I know I shouldn't feel this way. I know caesareans save lives. I know some woman are just as frightened of natural birth as I was of a surgical birth and I know many of those women choose their sections, and that is 100% ok by me. But this is the feeling I have been left with and I have yet, even now after a year has passed, I have yet to feel my wounds fully heal. Even my scar, still jagged and purple and ugly, mocks me every day when I unclothe myself.

***

It's Estlin's birthday tomorrow. I have tried to distract myself this week with planning an over the top party that she will never remember. I want so desperately to not look at this date as the worst day of my life every year. I want to say to myself, "It was one day in your baby girl's life. One day. Why let it hold so much weight over you? Why let it remain so scary and sad?" She is more than I could have ever asked for. I wouldn't change a thing about her. And there's no way I could have loved her any more if she had come to me in the way I had imagined. I need to make my peace with something that went way out of my control. I need to find solace in the fact that I will demand and receive another chance next time. I need to let go of the past and realize that I am not my birth trauma. I am Estlin's mother. And I'm really good at it, I was made for this job and when I look at her, when she laughs at me, when we catch each other's eye across the room in the morning when I'm making breakfast and she remembers that I'm there with her and waddles over to me as fast as her tiny little legs can take her, throwing her arms up in the air to be picked up by me, me, that my most important job as her mother is to be an example. I have often spent so much time thinking of how I could have done things differently in the past, or what I am looking forward to in the future, instead of being in the here and now. I want Estlin to see the importance of every moment, that there is always another chance, that we cannot change the things that have made us who we are today, and that it is so important to let go of our burdens, to not carry them everywhere, and to trust ourselves, to love ourselves fully, and unconditionally.

Because in the end, despite it all, I would do it a thousand times over to call her my own.

Two Weeks In & Two Weeks Away

So I'm at the beginning of my third week on the MuTu/Slimpod program and am definitely loving it so far. I'm noticing all these subtle changes in the decisions I make. Hopefully, the subtleties will turn into noticeable differences soon enough, but it's my attitude that has been most affected. I'm looking forward to loving the way I look, instead of focusing on hating how I look now. Switching out the negative for the positive. There's a lot to say in doing that.

The first two weeks of the MuTu System has definitely been easy going. Besides a few informational videos to watch, there's a six minute exercise video focusing on your core and general stretches. Six minutes! Hard to not make time for just six minutes during the day (even though I find most days I'm doing it right before bed, but the stretching feels great at that time and it really puts me in tune with how my body is feeling at the end of the day). I can actually feel these few exercises trying to pull those abdominal muscles back together, as with traditional planks and crunches actually push them out. I believe soon enough there will be more of a commitment with the MuTu (extra 20 minute workouts that will help burn calories instead of just focusing on the DR) and I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Along with eating better and the super easy 6 minute core exercises, I'm supposed to be walking outside every day for at least 20-30 minutes. This will most likely be the hardest thing to commit to, for obvious reasons. I live in Ireland and we're not known for our dry, sunshiney, perfect outdoor walking weather. But we are at a change of season now and this week is already gifting us some pretty nice sunny days. The walk today was so bright out, I found myself fumbling with the silly sun umbrella that attaches to Estlin's buggy every few minutes, depending on the direction we were facing. Poor thing was sneezing up a storm every time the sun was in her face! It's been an awful stormy winter here and I know I'm not the only one that is so looking forward to a somewhat decent summer. When the sun is shining, and it's warm and dry and calm, it's damn near perfect here in Co. Clare.

I've very much enjoyed this commitment to moving more outdoors. There's something to say in forcing ourselves to strive for more natural movement. As in, walking outside on normal terrain in the flattest shoes possible (or barefoot!) with correct posture. The overall point of MuTu is to fix a "mummy tummy" but a lot of that comes from having the right alignment in all of our movements. Heeled shoes cause us to lean forward and then over-correct. Treadmills and other exercise machines don't allow us to move naturally. If we correct our alignment and posture, our muscles will want to be where they're supposed to be. I invested in a nice pair of Converse this weekend (or should I say, Vinnie invested...) and can definitely feel the difference when I'm walking compared to my boots or runners. I find I am more aware of how my entire body feels during that movement. I can feel my core engaging and my shoulders pushing back. I can feel my muscles doing what they should be doing, whether I'm walking uphill or downhill. It's an enlightening experience, paying attention to how your body feels doing something as natural as walking, and being aware of doing it correctly.

I'm also finding the Slimpod to be extremely helpful. There are no strict diet guidelines, just the general idea to make better choices, or at least be aware of why and when you make bad choices. At the end of each day, I write down three noticeable changes in the choices I made, whether I moved more and ate better, etc. Then I listen to the quick 9 minute track on my iPod before falling asleep. It forces you to focus on the positive things, no matter how small, at the end of every day. This is so much more life-changing then the usual beating I can give myself for eating this or not doing that, generally focusing on the negative things I did during the day that aren't getting me closer to my goals. It's amazing to lay there in bed and think, "See how easy it was to not have that snack after dinner? Didn't it feel good to actually say no to that slice of pizza?" It's helped me realize that these things are possible, saying no and choosing better. It's a crazy concept, but I can actually feel good not having ice cream every night. Or cake. Mmmmmmm...cake...Sorry, I'm getting off track here.

One of my ultimate goals with using the Slimpod program would be to get rid of that constant sugar craving that I have and replace it with a craving for real, healthy food. This will most likely be one of the hardest things to accomplish for me because not only am I absolutely obsessed with sweet things, but I just adore baking in all its forms and feel so much joy and satisfaction with making a delicious cupcake and seeing friends and family enjoy it too. I'll definitely need to find the middle ground with this one. I don't want to have to give up an activity that I so thoroughly enjoy and am actually really good at, just because I can't control how much I indulge myself when I do bake.

It's almost Estlin's first birthday and there will be a party and there will be cake and sweets and goodies and all that jazz. And I will definitely, for sure, without a doubt, partake in said cake and sweets and goodies. I'm not going to feel guilty for that. As the date of the 27th of March approaches, I'm filled with so many emotions. One, I can't believe I have nearly a one year old daughter, and how amazing that little girl is, how perfect for me she has turned out to be, and what an incredible year she has given me. But lurking there in the shadows behind all that is the memory of that day and what I had so desperately wanted it to be and what it eventually ended up being instead and how even now, a year later, I can't seem to fully get out of that shadow. My daughter's birthday should and will be a wonderful, beautiful, happy occasion. But I've still got a lot of healing to do and I know I won't be able to shake that shadow just yet so instead I will distract myself with cake. Lots of delicious, rainbow colored cake...and for that one day I will over-indulge and I won't feel guilty in the hopes that all that sugary-sweetness will take away the awful bitter taste I have in my mouth for what should have been the happiest day of my life, yet was so far from it.

I'm nearly ready now to tell that story. Soon...

A New Beginning, and Other Cliches

Ahh, finally after a near two year hiatus, I am resurrecting the old blog. There are many things I've wanted to write since my last post yet the desire was never strong enough to put pen to paper...er...fingers to keys. But now, now there is a real and definite reason that I must start doing this again. My life has changed in the most epic way possible - my first child arrived 11 months ago to this day. Stepping into the role of mother has been everything I ever thought it would be and I adore every minute...well, almost every minute. I am thankful every day that I was blessed with such a beautiful and curious and social little girl, Estlin Luna. You wouldn't think it's possible, but I love her more and more every single day.

But a part of me was forever changed and lost somewhere along the way between finding out I was pregnant and actually bringing her into the world. And I have struggled for 11 months to get that part back. I'm beginning to feel like that's impossible.

Our bodies change in so many ways during pregnancy and after. I knew all this but still, the results can be astounding. The stretching of skin, like claw marks along my sides and belly. The aches and pains and pressure and bloating and heartburn. My fingers went completely numb for the last few months of pregnancy, a distraction I could never find relief from that affected every single thing I did during the day. And the weight. Oh, the weight. I told myself in the beginning, I'd gain the average amount and stay healthy and strong. But the last month or so, I just lost control. I didn't feel like moving and all I wanted was to eat. The two combined don't bring about good results. It was ok, though, because I'd get my shape back after giving birth with healthy eating and exercise. How hard could it be?

It has been one of the hardest struggles of my life.

I see myself in pictures or catch my reflection in the mirror and I don't recognize that person. I never struggled with my weight. I was so skinny growing up and in high school, I probably looked somewhat UNhealthy. In college I had a bit of fluctuation, but that was all the late night Taco Bell and Jimmy John's while studying and being on my own for the first time without my mom telling me that one shouldn't consume ice cream every single evening while catching up on Lost. But I never got "heavy" just got rid of that slightly emaciated look. After college, in Portland, OR, I was the most fit I've ever been. I ate like crap; I literally had at least one meal out a day, Thai food for dinner every night, and don't get me started on the expansion of the ice cream addiction. However, I was constantly moving. I was one of the thousands of bicycle commuters that fill Portland's streets and if I wasn't on my bike, I was walking. I didn't own a car, so if I was going anywhere, I was using my body to get there. I see pictures of myself from then and think, "Yes, that's me. That's the me I remember being." Now...now I'm embarrassed for even my husband to see me undress. That's an awfully sad place to be in.

I've been trying lots of different things. For one, they say the weight will fall off of you if you breast feed. Not for me. Breast milk has been Estlin's main source of sustenance since day one yet I've struggled to get back to normal. I was walking all the time, but the weather got in the way. I started going to the gym, sweating hard for an hour several days a week. I quit carbs. I quit sugar (kind of; oh sugar, you demon of sweetness). Nothing worked. And since I'm an all or nothing kind of girl, if I didn't see results in a few weeks, I'd give up or give in to temptation. I have very little self control when it comes to cupcakes and Indian take aways. I can always be convinced to cheat just a little. But a few little cheats in one week is enough to halt any improvement from occurring. I thought for sure by the time Estlin was one, I'd be back in all my normal clothes and feeling great.

Here we are, 11 months post-partum and I still wear baggy maternity clothes because I'm ashamed of my still pregnant-looking belly. I'd die if anyone asked me when the baby is due. Oh, the baby? You mean my one year old? Yeah...

So I can give up and give in and admit defeat and say, "Whatever, I'm a mother, I should look different and I should be proud of my body for creating a child and I shouldn't be ashamed of the evidence of that that I still bear." But I'm not happy. I don't like what I see and I want to change it. So...how?

Last week, I won a spot to participate for free in this weight loss program designed specifically for mothers struggling with their leftover baby bellies. It's called MuTu (short for mummy tummy) and it's being run in conjunction with Slimpod, which is like hypnobirthing but for weight loss. I had to promise to commit and give it my all and I am now accountable to this amazing opportunity I've been given for free. I know how easy it is to cheat and give in, so I'm going to blog about my progress in order to keep myself accountable to everyone around me. I also want to do this because for the longest time I felt like I was the only one going through this struggle, that none of my friends or family members had any trouble with their weight after giving birth. I know this isn't true. I know we all have improvements we want to make and struggles we need encouragement over. So I want to be the example., I want to admit publicly that I am struggling and that I'm unhappy with myself and I'm ready to change and maybe by doing that, I can encourage someone else to take that first step also.

One of my hugest struggles with the weight, is that it is a constant reminder of the experience I had giving birth to Estlin. For those that are close to me, they already know this story and know this struggle. I feel I have not been able to heal emotionally  from the loss of my desired birth experience because I have never gotten my physical self back. This will be one of my main goals. If I can find the old me under these layers of extra weight and skin, I might then be able to forgive this body for not doing what it was supposed to do. Another step will be to tell that story here publicly. I'm not sure yet when I'll be ready to do that, but hopefully soon. I need to let go of this pain  before I can ever heal.

So, here goes. I hope my friends and family will follow me on this journey and keep the encouragement coming and in turn, I will work hard to reach the goals I have put before me.