Atomic Tonic

I ran four 5k's during my pregnancy with Linnea. I didn't know I was pregnant for the first three and the first doesn't really count as I was all of 48 hours pregnant. For that race, not even my uterus knew I was pregnant. For the second, I was coming up on week five. My time was abysmal and I didn't understand why. Yes it was hot and I got hungry waiting for the race to start, but it was only a 5k. I should have been able to at least run the whole course.

The third was barely a week after the second one. I was determined to make up for my crappy time. I ended up with my best 5k time to date. For the fourth one, I was 23 weeks pregnant. Time did not matter. The fact that there was a hotel with a bathroom halfway through the course did matter.

I'm three weeks postpartum tomorrow and I've been out for a run 4 times. It's still miserable but I've been shaving a minute off my time every run. However, that's not saying much considering my time today was just over 12 minute miles.

I'm feeling pretty discouraged and physically messy these days. Big. Carrying all this extra weight. None of my normal clothes fit. Some of my early stages maternity clothes don't even fit. I'm currently a D cup after starting out as an A. My gigantic nursing bras grab all manner of extra flesh on my back. My belly is, understandably, still soft and loose. The feel-good birthing hormones have petered out. There's nothing left but increasing waves of tired and overwhelming nursing hunger.

It's just me and the kids now. The whining insistance of the two-year old and the fact that the three-week old has finally discovered the difference between lying in a laundry basket and being held. Naturally, she prefers the latter. My back is out of wack and carrying her in the pouch hurts. Constantly having to bend down to pick things up off the floor makes me feel creaky. Not being able to put my feet up while I nurse Linnea and instead having to get Matilda a snack/markers/book/cup/whatever she currently needs but won't want as soon as I give it to her is making my patience run short. I feel old.

The crashing hormones have me convinced that I will never recover from this pregnancy. That I will always have this belly and hint of celulite on my ribs. That I'll never manage to lose this weight. I'll always be tired. Feel run-down. Be incapable of running one full mile without stopping.

I know this is not true. I know it gets better. Well. I assume it gets better. I'm going to continue running and not eating entire cakes in one sitting on the assumption that this has to get better. I'm just going to close my eyes and keep running. I have to keep going. It has to get better. I'm really, really sick of my maternity clothes.