Recently, my husband and I went to PLAY CLE together. PLAY CLE is “an indoor adventure park” that has a rope harness course, obstacle courses, and many other climbing-related activities.  I’ve been dying to go, and the last two times he went, I was pregnant. This type of course is totally my thing (correction: was my thing). I was pretty excited to be there but quickly realized that I’m not who I used to be. I am still carrying around some extra pounds (I can’t bring myself to get on a scale, so I’m not sure how much weight). Two C sections have destroyed my core. Trying to haul my heavier-than-normal frame through the air and remain balanced with a shitty core was not easy.

True to form, Rob pushed me to do more and do better. Typically, I appreciate this, but he didn’t know the war I was waging in my head. I could not believe how hard some of the course was for me. At one point, I stood on a podium high in the air, completely baffled, and felt like screaming. I couldn’t believe that the girl who used to swing from monkey bars like a pro and climb ropes struggled so mightily on this course. Meanwhile, Rob sailed through it all like a seasoned ninja warrior. And in my head, the war waged on.

I met my husband through our football league, and we’ve always played sports together. We are two of the most competitive people you will meet (truth: one of our first real fights was about corn hole performance). We participated in Cleveland Corporate Challenge together, and while at this course, I kept thinking of this picture, which was taken at a Corporate Challenge. I couldn’t stop thinking of this girl who is pictured below.

This girl would have rocked the obstacle course. Her body was hard and strong. Her muscles were well toned and she was in the best shape of her life. She could run fast and she played sports 5 or 6 days a week. She ran races. She won tournaments. She could sleep in as long as she wanted or take naps. She could eat junk food and still remain fit due to her physical activity.

But this girl didn’t have two babies in a very short amount of time. She didn’t stand in front of the mirror and watch her body swell and grow with life.  She didn’t experience the thrilling and terrifying sensation of a child growing in her body, the flutter of movement and sharp hits from limbs pressing her from the inside. She didn’t feel contractions wrack her body, the pain beautiful in its rhythmic waves. She didn’t wake up all night long for months while raising those babies, pressing their skin to her skin. She didn’t watch a child breathe and know in her soul she’d never ever be the same. She didn’t know the joy and pleasure of watching a baby become a child and a child become a person.

This body is strong, but in different ways. That girl, the old me, may have had the mental fortitude to complete a half marathon, but she never would have weathered navigating the ER with an injured, terrified, helpless toddler. She didn’t have the grit and tenacity motherhood ingrains and then demands.

I recognize this girl, but she isn’t me. Not anymore. I miss her taut muscles. I miss her sun bleached hair and tanned skin. I miss her confidence and  her freedom. I miss the way my husband used to look at her. But I wouldn’t trade my daughters or this life to be her again. No. Not even close. I’d rather hold my baby girls against my new body softened by this transformed life than go for a run or sail through an obstacle course with that younger body. I’d rather my husband look at me and see a wife and mother who is now stronger on the inside.

 If I close my eyes, I can remember what that body felt like: the flex of a calf muscle as I pushed through a long run; my heart pumping and pulsing; the delicious, lazy mornings without an alarm or need to wake.  When I open my tired eyes, a curious redhead is spinning in circles in sunbeams, squealing in delight at the joy of simple movement; a baby is tracking me with large eyes across the room, waiting for me to notice her, her face softening in a grin when I do.

And for the love of all that is good, I want to be here. I want to be this.