Rebuilding the Empire

Pregnancy and childbirth are so unique.  My experience with them has been extremely humbling and empowering at the same time. I can't think of anything else that requires women to be so attuned to their bodies. There is no room for stubborn goals or unrealistic expectations. My workouts had to be adjusted weekly, sometimes daily, to accommodate how I felt. And there is nothing more real than postpartum weakness in my back, legs, joints, abs, and brain. I think postpartum life, at least temporarily, is anything but beautiful (speaking about ME and not the baby, of course). 

If you can workout during pregnancy, there are numerous benefits, including a distant sense of normalcy, an equally distant connection with your previous non-pregnant self, and the false notion that it will somehow make labor,delivery, and recovery easier. Not so much. There is no "easy" or "easier" for mothers of infants. There is only hard work and constantly shifting expectations. 

I worked out the entire time, completing my final sweat sesh the day before I went in to have Hope. So naturally, I imagined that when I returned to the gym I would pickup where I left off. About Day Three after having her, I was ready to start walking again. This is when I realized that my body had been completely hijacked by some postpartum alien which apparently spent the last three days eating any of my remaining muscle tone; and had also taken a tire iron and repeatedly beaten my legs and back until they were nothing more than a collection of cellulite and weakness. As we walked that first mile, I felt like I had not walked anywhere in a year. The glacial pace was too fast for me and everything hurt. Naturally, I cried. 

Around Day 10, I felt ready to get back in the gym. I was now walking two to three miles at a time and the pace was just slightly faster than what I imagine my dead grandmother walks now. So, I get to the gym and about five minutes into my workout I realize that, once again, I am nowhere near where I left off. In a year, I went from level 10 workouts, to levels 9,8,7,6,5... You get it. 

What the hell happened when I went in to have this baby? I gave birth not only to her, but to my muscle tone, my stamina, my cardio health, and every last bit of my pride and self respect while I was at it. No one tells you that, even though you may stay in shape and eat right while you are pregnant, you still emerge from that delivery room weak, exhausted, and with the muscle tone of a wet sponge. The work of reclaiming your physical self is going to be like rebuilding Rome one brick at a time. I assume the rebuilding takes a shorter time because you have muscle memory going for you, but whatever. I know that when I finally made it back to the gym, I felt like I didn't even belong there anymore. My muscles went from "yo, we are so bad ass" to "wtf are you doing" in a matter of days. In fact, I don't like to workout with my contacts in because I'd rather not see what I look like in those gym mirrors. For some reason, I remember them making me look way more hardcore a year ago. 

For just over two weeks, I went into the gym and did the equivalent of geriatric workouts which I would have designed for actual dead people. Then, one day after I had an incredible night rest involving almost three straight hours of sleep, I had enough energy to do a little run. Uh... How do nursing mothers accomplish this? Are nursing sports bras required? Because I can tell you right now that a regular sports bra ain't gonna cut it. I mean, I was kinda nervous for the guy on the treadmill in front of me. Maybe nursing sports bras are equipped with enough underwire to build a prison wall, which might be ALMOST sufficient enough to support all that nursing moms have going on with their overweighted, working, painfully sensitive breasts. 

I digress....

My note that day in my workout notebook read, "running: WAIT." Although getting a little cardio felt nice, I did get the feeling that my insides might fall out. Weird feeling. 

But I need someone to tell me if nursing sports bras are worth the investment. 

Rebuilding Rome one slow, painful, muscle-depleted brick at a time. The comparison is fair and I am amazed at what the human body can do. Honestly...

I joke about being weak and defenseless, but when I consider what just happened, I am in awe of it all. 

Now, at five weeks PP, I can finally see what MIGHT be a muscle in my arms and legs, but my midsection still hasn't gotten the memo that HELLO! There is no longer a baby in there!! 

Stupid midsection... 

Next up: the baby wants to hang out in the middle of the night and, as a result of these shenanigans, I'm pretty sure I saw the Grateful Dead dancing bears at the foot of my bed the other night. Sleep deprivation truly is an effective form of torture.