At the age of 29 (ok, almost 30), I don’t have the body that I want. Heck, most days I wonder how my husband even copes. But then I start thinking about what my body has done over the past 6 and a bit years, and my body issues, they don’t seem so important anymore.
My body has gone through 2 pregnancies. My body has nourished 3 children. My body gained 30kg over 9 months, and lost it in 6 weeks. I have cellulite, stretch marks and a pooch that has taken up residence where my flat tummy used to be. My boobs are different sizes, and no longer point in the same direction. I literally have to stand in front of the mirror every morning, rearranging them in my bra so that if it happens to be a bit cold, people will look in 1 direction, not 2! I have 2 chins, sometimes 3. My hair has thinned out, and has fallen out. I have the epitome of a muffin top, even when wearing the loosest fitting clothes that I own.
But then, I thought about what my damaged, broken body has given me. 3 healthy, strong, beautiful children. My damaged, broken body has done something that is nothing short of heroic. My body grew and nourished 3 children, 2 of them at once. Do I like what I see in the mirror? No, not particularly. But then, I don’t spend my life looking in a mirror. I have looked at the bodies of my friends who have had also had children, and I’ve looked on in envy. I’ve looked at their flat tummies, skinny legs and perky boobs and then I’ve taken a step back and realised something; I am not my friends. This is my body, not theirs. My body has reacted to pregnancy in the way that it has, because it is my body. My skin is not very elastic; I knew this from my teenage years, when my first lot of stretch marks appeared. I look at my mom, super skinny after 3 pregnancies, and I’ve looked on in envy. But now I don’t. This is my body. My body that produced 3 children. Will my body ever return to its 55kg svelte state? Quite simply, no. Yes I’m exercising and trying to lose a bit of the excess weight that I’m carrying, but it’s no longer a huge issue in my life. It’s no longer a major priority. What is a priority, is watching my children grow up, to be happy, healthy, loved people. To be determined, respectful and full of perseverance. To be the best that they can be. To know that the world is theirs for the taking, if they work hard enough for what they want.
No, I’m no supermodel. No, I never have been, and never will be. I’ve got lumps and bumps, absolutely no ass whatsoever, and lopsided boobs. I have aches and creaks in my joints, and my wedding band still doesn’t fit on my finger, even though I’ve lost all of my pregnancy weight.
But quite honestly, what more could I ask for, without being selfish?
I am woman. I am mom. I am enough.