Body image

My back hurts. My shoulders feel as though they've fused with my neck in one hard tangled lump. Tonight, when I tried running, I sensed my bones had shifted.

Oh yeah: They had.

Since Aida was born, my body has become something else. And I'm talking beyond the post-pregnancy pooch, beyond the extra pounds. No, it feels like my once fit-and-tidy body has become a walking experiment in aches and pains. Like with the birth of a baby I added about 10 years to my life.

That's to say nothing about what it's teaching me.

At her four-month check-up Thursday, Aida weighed 13 pounds 11 ounces -- about double her birth size -- and she measured 24 and 3/4 inches long. Of course, much of my time with my new daughter is spent lifting, holding and carrying her.

When it comes time for a nap or bed, I lower her on the twin bed in her nursery, bend over her body, swaddle her up and then lift her to my shoulder for some cradling.

In recent weeks, this movement alone has become more difficult, sending a slow tightness through my lower back and abdomen. Sometimes it's enough of a struggle to get fully upright that I consider just staying there, half-way bent with her in my arms, until she falls asleep. (Aida, honey, this is the new way of going to sleep. You don't mind, do you?)

The neck pain is from looking down at her when she nurses. The shoulder pain is from bouncing and swinging her in my arms. The sore left bicep is from holding her upright with her head resting on my left shoulder. And the lower back soreness is partly from carrying her in a sling that doesn't have lumbar support. (Make new purchase!)

Once upon a time, 13 pounds was nothing to me. I ran with confidence and joy. I worked my ass off to work my ass off and, though I never would have admitted it at the time, looked askance at folks who didn't.

And so this is another way Aida has changed my life.

When I see a woman running with a stroller, I understand how difficult it probably was, not only to get to the point where running feels natural, but simply to get out of the house with the baby.

When I see that old man walking in front of our house every day, hunched forward in what looks like discomfort, I wonder what movement, if any, put him in that condition. Bending down to tend his garden? Leaning over his sick wife? Holding his grandchild all day while his daughter worked?

In time, I know, I may shed these pounds and lose the pooch. But I don't believe I will ever run the same way again.