That isn’t necessarily true. I did care a lot, and I still do care a little.
I had another topic picked out to write about this week, but the other night after my shower for some reason I decided to take a close look at my head. Bad idea. I found 12 gray hairs! I know you might think I’m being dramatic, but trust me when I say this was a complete shock because they weren’t in my “normal” gray hair spot. I have a patch in my hair toward the back that occasionally sprouts 3-4 gray hairs at a time, and I have come to terms with that over the past few years. No, these little stinkers were right up near the front, and I’m pretty sure they have been masquerading as highlights for months now because some of them were not short.
I’m not sure why I cared so much, but I did. I suddenly felt older and more frumpy. I started noticing all of the other nuances about my body I didn’t like. The funny this is, I don’t think I could tell you if any of my girlfriends have gray hair. I’m sure they have some. We all do, but do we notice it on each other? No, not usually because it’s really not important. But if I did see a 30-something mom with a patch of gray hair I would be like “High five girlfriend. You’ve earned that hair tinsel”. To myself though, I was thinking “Man, this stinks. My hair is going to turn all gray by the time I’m 35, and I’m either going to have to spend money to dye it every few months or just deal with the fact that I look older than I am.” Is that going to happen? Probably not. I’m sure pregnancy and postpartum hormones from the past 2 ½ years have shocked my hair into doing whatever it feels like doing for awhile.
Why am I writing about this? I don’t know. I’ve dealt with so many different feelings about my postpartum body that I feel like I am on a constant roller coaster about it. These gray hairs were just icing on the cake. I’ve realized that I am never going to look the same as I did pre-kids when I was running half marathons and in the “I must impress him” dating phase with my husband. I think my hips are permanently wider, and no matter how many times I try on the jeans that “should” fit, they just aren’t going to. Ever. And, ugh, that’s okay. That’s hard for me to even say because honestly, some days it’s not okay. But, my kids love me, and they don’t know anything different than my squishy belly and wrinkles and not so cute style.
This year has been a hard one with coming to terms with my postpartum self, but I’ve learned that “different” isn’t always a bad thing. I’ve stopped pretending that I am going to start running again or go to the gym, and I’ve found a workout routine that I can do at home that I really love. I’ve stopped holding on to clothes that might fit someday, and I’ve searched for styles, brands, and fits that make me feel confident with where I’m at, muffin top and all. (Although, I am always taking recommendations for good sports bras – why is that so hard to find??) And I’ve decided to ask my husband every day if he can see my gray hair, and the minute he says yes, I’m booking it to the hair salon. Kidding. Kind of.
Moral of the very long story today. It’s hard as heck to love your body postpartum sometimes, but friends, you have to find a way to make it happen because it is what it is. Be the best you can be, but don’t beat yourself up over the things that take awhile to change (or the things you can’t, like gray hair). 💕