Dear Postpartum Body,
If there is anything (at this particular moment) I have a love/hate relationship with, it’s you.
I’m sorry. You don’t deserve the bitterness, you don’t deserve my resentment. You worked so hard in the last 10 months, and I should give you a break.
But, I can’t lie. I have to address the obvious: you are just not the same, and I don’t recognize you anymore. You’re flabby in the most frustrating places and stained with dark lines that will fade but never go away. I work out, I eat well, but – darn it – those 15 extra pounds linger like a bad headache.
It would be unfair of me to gloss over these raw feelings, you affect my every moment, and I only have one of you. But it would also be unfair of me to disregard this reality: You did something miraculous.
In just 40 weeks, you grew and sustained life. LIFE! From Cecilia’s microscopic size as an egg to the healthy, red-cheeked, 9lb 9oz chub of a little girl, you fed her, and protected her, and I am so incredibly grateful.
I wish society didn’t place unfair expectations on you. I wish society could embrace more willingly your unique features. But, it’s a battle. And I hate that I often side with the enemy, wrestling with myself. You deserve to be praised. You deserve to be cherished. You deserve to be worn like a badge of honor.
This is my promise to you. I won’t forget what you did for us. And, despite the numbers on the scale, I will strive to love you even more with each passing day.
Cheers to all the stretch marks, Rachel