When do I get my body back postpartum?

My "mothering" skin is sloughing off faster each day.

The newly exposed ME is as appealing as a newborn...cute and ugly simultaneously.

When I think of how I'm growing, I think of the classic sci-fi icons of huge headed creatures with flailing limbs.  Askew in body, brain expanding, and heart beating strongly as strength returns to all aspects of my being...I am an adult infant!

Surprise!  It's a girl!  And she's filled with EGO.  It's all about me, me, me!  ha ha

And that is the real surprise.  My own progeny are moving on and I feel so greedy.  I like throwing my arms wide open to the world and I like exposing this new skin of mine to the sun and I when I hug someone, it's just me to hug.

Therein lies the dilemma.  For all the fun that greediness provides, I'm not made to hug myself solely.  As sure as I am about who I am becoming, I am also sure that nurturing another/others is the main puzzle piece to my happiness.

I shall not lie fallow as a seed without food to grow.  The egg is filled yolk and white for a reason....

Life Force Transcendence

Maya Angelou's passing hurts.

Her writing and speaking evoked strong responses within me...hurtful and hopeful in the same heartbeat.

When walking us to the edge of a deep emotional well, she held our hand as we looked into the deep abyss of  fears, hopes, and dreams.

I felt safe and loved within her words...darkness tinged with light...light tinged with the possibility of a storm....

Following her lead is an intoxicating possibility.  All of our musings come from an autobiographical stance and she made the sharing of oneself wholly holy.

Maya

Afternoon Nirvana

Checking over my shoulder
Wondering how I got here
Asking if it's too good to be true

Questioning my questions
Bemoaning my moans
Provoking, evoking a feeling or two

Resisting temptation
Tempting my patience
Patiently waiting for words to come through

Afternoon nirvana
Rainstorm protection
A something I've wanted and waited to do

Revisit

Looking at the titles of blog posts that were never completed:  Quiet Anger, Doormat

I'm going with the positive summation that I did not complete these posts because I REFUSED to be addicted to my sad stories.  In the social competition of "who's had it the worst," I think I could hold my own with the retelling of my suffering and I'm sure I could garner the sympathy of listeners with my heartfelt angst, but it's a poisonous addiction...the retelling of sadness.

After long term analysis, progressive therapists are finally embracing the concept that the dead horse of pain doesn't need to be beaten constantly for peace.  It's important to note that the masses instinctively know this...we have holidays (Memorial Day) set aside for pain acknowledgement.  We can't function effectively if we continue a cycle of painful memories.

The anniversaries of my previous life become easier to face; sharp stabbing memories become duller as I force them to remain on the periphery of my being.  On this Memorial Day, I acknowledge their existence and pay homage to their lessons but I DELETE their ongoing influence.  I live by exiting the swirling eddy  of pain and instead embark upon a tributary taking me to a much larger pool of potential...a still deep water that gives me peace and tranquility and freedom to appreciate how far I have floated away from white rushing waters of pain....