I was/am mentally prepared for a baby. I was not prepared for the toll it would take on my body.
Ack. I got stretch marks. They are on the lower part of my stomach, below my navel. It’s the part of my abdomen I can’t see anymore without a mirror. So it took me a while to realize that they were even there.
When I did discover them, it hit a little harder because I wasn’t expecting them. I had thoroughly convinced myself that I wouldn’t get any, because my mom didn’t get any and none had shown up by the end of my second trimester. Ah, but my mom only gained 15 pounds the entire length of her pregnancy, an amount I gained in the first 15 weeks of mine. Damn her for giving me false hope.
I don’t have a good reason to be upset. My baby is healthy, and this pregnancy has been a breeze so far, with no complications. But darn it, I wanted to be able to bounce back to my former self with little or no evidence of having pushed a human being out of my body. The kid should be evidence enough. I don’t want a pouch, or stretch marks, or saggy boobs! I want my body back!
“Vanity, definitely my favorite sin.”
Freedom + Love = Life 