Dear Body

I finally explored my post-partum body for the first time.

I’ve been so afraid to look at it, to touch it. Every time I’ve brought my hand to my stomach since giving birth, I’ve broken down in tears with longing for my pregnant belly. You see, despite the excruciating pains and incessant complaints, I loved my pregnant body. The feeling of having my babies inside of me, so safe and warm and cared for, made me feel alive. Whole. Feminine. Purposeful. Attractive. Freakish, even, in a way that I liked. The babies’ kicks were never annoying. Even toward the end, when the girls decided to stretch completely straight so that I couldn’t bend forward whatsoever, I loved every bump and kick that emerged . . . yet was held within . . . my pregnant body.

And yet . . .

And yet, I was afraid. Over the weeks, I saw my body change. I saw the unmistakable zig-zags of stretch marks come forth and multiply. I’d push my skin together to get a glimpse of what I was in for once my uterus emptied. I was scared that I’d hate my new body and that I wouldn’t be as loveable.

Then, I had my girls. The most difficult physical challenge I’ve faced by far. But I did it. I did it. My body did it. And along with two new daughters, I had a new body to embrace.

It’s tough going 30 years with one body and getting a whole new one in just a few months.

My stomach is a strange landscape now. The skin is loose and lined with stretch marks. It sags and hangs low over my pelvis. The dark linea nigra is still there, dirt brown and crooked as the day I delivered. Over my now-wider hips are short, sharp gashes, purple stretch marks spread like train tracks over the plush padding of maternal fat. Notches on the belt for all the weeks I carried my babies. My breasts are full and engorged with the milk that nourishes these two tiny beings.

Elise and Althea. My daughters.

Pawing at the soft, crepe-y skin, running my fingertips over the grooves that line and encircle my stomach, I cried. I cried hard. I grabbed at the paunch that once held my babies. And instead of hatred, I felt love. This strange new skin once held my daughters. For that, I must love it. I have two healthy babies. This body accomplished something tremendous and indescribable.

My stomach will never again be taught with youth. My nipples will never again be pert and pink, virgin. I have a mother’s body now, scarred and ravaged with signs of life.