Growing and Changing

Today my son turns 19 months old, and today I weigh about the same as I did when I was six months pregnant (I gained about 45 pounds total, most of it in my third trimester). Since I started working out (in April) I have lost about eight pounds and at least two inches around my waist (from measurements taken one month apart, June and July).  I think of all I have accomplished physically with my body in the last four months and wonder why I didn't start sooner?  Then I remember my child. I remember the struggle to breastfeed, how much stress it was on my body.  There was no way that I could have exercised and been able to sustainably produce milk.  Even after pregnancy, my body was not my own, it still was something he needed: for food, for comfort, for sleep.  And I had committed to that when I decided I would breastfeed, and I committed to that when I decided to extend breastfeeding past one year.  I could not selfishly stop meeting his basic needs just to lose the weight I had gained.

Now here we are in a new stage of life.  He no longer nurses in the morning, just comes in bed with us to snuggle and giggle.  I don't have that time to rest my eyes just a bit longer.  We stopped nursing at about 18 months, his decision, not mine.  So now we get up early, and I have more time in the morning to use for things that I'm interested in (aside from sleeping).  I have my body back to myself now, and that extra time? I'm using it for running. But in a heartbeat I'd do it all again.