Aspen Pricess: Body after baby at 46
Aspen Princess
So I turned 46 yesterday.
It was also six weeks to the day that I gave birth to Levi, though the term “giving birth” does not seem to best describe exactly what went down. It seems more fitting to say it’s been six weeks since Levi was extracted from my womb like a tree is dug up from the ground, with tractors and cranes and dirt spilling out all over the place.
But that’s not really the point.
The point is that six weeks is the amount of time they tell you to wait before going back to exercising after a C-section. Obviously, this was kind of a bummer since I worked really hard to stay in shape during my pregnancy only to be told that I would be relegated to laying around the house half-paralyzed since my right leg was numb below the knee due to some kind of nerve damage sustained during the excavation of my kid.
The good news is the leg is all better, my baby boy is 6 weeks old, he’s thriving, he’s a good sleeper and he happens to be the cutest baby ever in the history of the universe. If you don’t believe me, check out my pug’s Instagram account (@GertieGoogleEyes). She has tons of really awesome photos of the baby on there.
The really good news is I was finally able to get back on the hill. Ryan and I did a little skin at my parent’s house in Steamboat. It just so happens they live by one of the best skin tracks anywhere, and it’s within walking distance to their house, so you can literally go from the front door. The cool thing about this skin track is that it’s not in the resort but meanders through dense woods along the creek bed, where it’s just you and the moose scat that litters the trail every 100 yards or so. Apparently Steamboat has been overrun with moose lately as the deeper snowpack has forced them onto more passable terrain like ski runs and skin tracks. As much as it’s a fun idea to think it might be kind of neat to see a moose, I’d rather not run into one, as they are about as predictable and temperamental as Donald Trump (trying so hard to avoid politics right now, but it is nearly impossible).
It’s a 45-minute walk to the Pony Express lift, and from there you can pretty much go on as far as you want. We only did about 15 minutes more and were ready to go down as it was my first outing and I didn’t want to go bonkers, even though the truth is I was feeling pretty damn great.
I kept thinking, “Why is this so easy?” And then I realized it’s because I’m 20 pounds lighter.
That’s not to say I wasn’t a little loosey-goosey on the ski down, that my midsection sort of felt like Jell-O, all jiggly and useless and unresponsive. I used my legs to compensate, and my quads were on fire after the first 10 turns, but still.
Then I made my debut back at yoga, which was the best feeling ever. Everyone was so nice and excited to see me and made me feel so loved and missed, which doesn’t happen often enough in our adult lives. It was so special to be able to practice throughout my pregnancy and to get the support of this awesome community that I was only just getting to know. Just as I thought, having a child is somewhat required for entrance into Basalt society because apparently you need to have a little more than skiing and partying in common down here. Now that I’m officially a mom, I have something to talk about with these women who drive Audis and look fit and pretty but not too skinny or too coiffed or too paralyzed from Botox like they do in Aspen. They still qualify as beautiful people, but a little more believable, like it’s good genes and not just good jeans, so to speak.
I was able to do just about every pose and felt light as a feather, at least until I had to round forward in head-to-knee pose and felt my post-baby belly jiggle get all pushed up around my rib cage like a sausage. Also, backbends felt really weird, and I was almost afraid to go into them even though getting upside down felt better than my first swig of beer.
Then Ryan and I went skinning up Buttermilk for my birthday, and my goal was just to make it to the top. I gave myself full permission to move at a turtle’s pace and not get mad when we got passed by 50 people on the newest lightweight equipment who literally ran past us. We made it to the top, and it wasn’t that hard considering we took our time in a really big way.
Being a bit of a narcissist, I had to get a photo from the top so I could post a “look at me” photo on Facebook and brag to the world about how awesome my life is. If there’s one thing you know at 46, it’s how to show your good side, and I did just that, so I got a ton of “I can’t believe how great you look; did you really just have a baby?” comments. I felt like a celebrity in Us Weekly where they put photos of new mom celebs and do these “Body After Baby” stories.
But the truth is, I know how to hide it: a) wear something black. b) Go up at least one size. c) Tie something around your waist.
I guess that’s what being 46 with a newborn is all about. To borrow a small piece of wisdom from my favorite yoga guru turned rapist, “Fake it till you make it.”
The Aspen Princess is afraid to weigh herself. Email your love to alisonmargo@gmail.com.
