Making Real Memories-resisting the urge to capture perfection

For many many years of my life I struggled with an eating disorder. Perfection was my goal and my expectations were unattainable, and yet I starved my body to try and reach it. Still years later as I live in recovery and continue to learn to love food and nourish my body, the need for perfection creeps in every so often. And when it does, I expose it. Because I will never go back to that place. I was made for so much more. My weight does not define my purpose or my beauty. But that doesn’t mean my brain doesn’t try to pull me back to that dark place, where all that mattered was on the outside.  For me and many mamas I know, those months after childbirth, when everything is a little bit bigger and clothes don’t quite fit, can be a source of so much frustration, sadness, self doubt.

Two weeks after Lilah was born we had a photographer in our home to capture our new little family. I spent hours at the mall with Eric a few days prior, trying to find an outfit that would hide my new mama body. After lots of dressing room tears I found something that I thought would kind of work. Hopefully the photographer would get all of my good angles so that I would look skinny. The day of the shoot I cringed as I put on my outfit. As I put on my makeup I thought to myself, well at least my face looks okay, and I tried not to stare at the lumpiness spilling over the waistband of my jeans. The photo shoot itself was magical. I was on cloud nine, in my own little world with my Eric and my Lilah. I remember thinking, what could be better than this?

A few weeks later we got the pictures back and they were breathtaking. Our sweet little baby looked angelic, and all her tiny features were captured so perfectly. And then there were the family moments, the mama and Lilah moments. Those were breathtaking too, freezing those moments of connection in time. But my eyes couldn’t help but drop down to the thighs that were quite a few sizes bigger than what they once were, and the belly that hadn’t yet shrunk from housing my little girl. I cringed again. I decided I would just post the pictures that didn’t showcase my new size, that way no one would notice that I wasn’t “perfect” anymore. I would just frame the ones where I wasn’t one of the main subjects of the picture. That would keep me hidden.

Fast forward a few weeks, to right now, this moment as I sit in bed watching my baby’s chest rise and fall as she sleeps. The moments. Oh how precious they are. I want to remember as many as possible, bottle them up and save them forever. And then I realize, ALL the photographs we have of these first few months are so precious. The ones of us giving Lilah her first bath, where I still look pregnant and puffy, but my smile stretches from ear to ear with pure happiness. And still to come are the Christmas pictures where I am still 50 lbs over my pre-pregnancy weight, and nothing quite fits me yet. But am I willing to sacrifice the memories just because I am not currently meeting my own standards of perfection? Lord no. NO NO NO NO NO. I want to remember. I want to look back on these pictures and remember how my body grew this little person, and fed this little person, and spent nights rocking and burping this little person. I want to remember all the squishiness, every single pound.

And when Lilah is older I will resist the urge to mention how huge I was when we look through her baby photos. Instead I will say, “look how happy mama was to finally have you in her arms”, “look at her smile and the way she looks at you”. Those were the best days baby girl, the very best days.