Hating My Body After Baby…

Image result for pregnant black woman art

I remember when my pregnancy was cute. I was maybe 5-6 months at the time. I wasn’t at the point where my face didn’t look as though I was having an allergic reaction, my nose hadn’t spread across my face, and my feet weren’t too big to wear normal shoes. As time progressed I got to the “get out of my body” point. The reaction I received evolved as well. People were no longer talking about how adorable I was or how “well” I carried my son. They started with the “you look like you’re going to pop!” or the plain and simple “good God!” (insert stale faced emoji here).

When I went into the hospital to have my son I had so many thoughts running through my mind. Believe me, I was super excited to meet my baby, but I wanted my damn body back too. Period. Not just the physique but the overall ownership of it. I was tired of watching how I walked, laid down, or even dealt with the common cold. It was my body and I no longer wanted to share.

But oh, was I naive. First of all, I breast fed an entire 13 months. So, my body in so many ways was still not my body. It belonged to the kid. Secondly, to say that I was unhappy with the way I looked would be an understatement. My lips were still black. Yes, black, because randomly I had an allergic reaction to my lip gloss weeks before my son was born. My face broke out in hives too. Thirdly, my stomach was disgusting. We can talk all of that I am woman hear me roar this body made a baby crap. But the reality is I didn’t get to that point for months. My stomach was ugly. It was saggy and sloppy. It was 4 shades darker that my skin tone and had that dumb thick long black line going down the middle still. WTF? I remember asking my doctor when the line would disappear and being disappointed when she hit me with the “it varies for different people” thing. Girl! I just want this gone! This wasn’t the body I knew before baby.

Believe me, my body wasn’t perfect before I had my son but I was comfortable within my own skin. Here I was uncomfortable as if I was living in a strangers home. I was depressed. Really depressed. My son’s growth slowly began to place me in a space where the “ugly” body was worth it. It was worth watching him roll over, smile, laugh, and lift his head. I found peace whenever he would lay on my chest. He loved my body because it was his safe place and the only home he knew. It took some time but I got to a place of gratification.

Still, I will never forget that space. The space no one seems to talk about. The space where the happiest time of my life was just a little despondent. The space where I felt selfish for worrying about how I looked when God had just blessed me with a son. Because the fact of the matter is…that space existed for me like I’m sure it has/will exist for other moms. A space that they are not alone…


Until next time


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