Dear Body

Dear Body:

Thank you. Thank you for getting pregnant and for carrying Ms. Peppermint. I am so grateful for the opportunity to carry a child, and now that her kicks have started, I decided it was time to stop and say a proper thank you for all that you have done for me and all that you will do for me in the next few months.

I think it's the greatest privilege of my life to carry a baby. This Baby. I have maligned you and scolded you and berated you enough to last a lifetime. Now, I find myself tempted to shove aside my deep gratitude for all that you are doing (making and housing my daughter) to focus on how you are doing it. How arrogant and how shortsighted of me to focus on something as trivial as

whether my weight gain falls neatly into some chart. I believe it is time to let that go. We are in the back half-- at 23 weeks, we have approximately 17 more to go. How about I spend the next 17 weeks honoring you and the sublime work you are doing with my daughter's heart, spine, limbs, brain and lungs? How about that! What if every time I got a pang of panic about whether I am eating the right amount of X, Y, or Z, or if it was ok to have a little ice cream at a birthday party, I took that adrenaline and applied it to deep, genuine gratitude? How much closer would I be to my vision of myself as a woman who has her prioritities straight, her focus on people and love and relationships, and a harmonious and collaborative relationship with her body? I would love to find out!

For the record, the still small voice inside of me whispers every day that you know what you are doing. You knew when to get pregnant so that we could welcome a beloved SUMMER baby-- which is downright brilliant for us Chicago denizens! You kept me safe all those years during the crash diets and ice cream binges. You helped me cross the finish line for two marathons in ONE year-- both time obliging my masochistic impulses, while helping me find balance. Of all the things I could possibly put my trust in, you're really the safest bet I could make. And, I have always suffered from selective memory, so I'll probably forget how heroic, tenacious, and sturdy you have been, even when not guided by the most gentle brain under the sun. When I forget, I hope I can come back to this moment, when I can say that I have been as honest as I am capable, that I am in a state of thanksgiving for the wonders and miracles and beauty of my body. And, it's this gift I hope to turn over to my daughter.

Now, hair, you and I have some work to do, but there's plenty of time.

With love and (long-overdue) gratitude,

Christie