There are a lot of beautiful stories to encourage mothers to embrace every extra pound, to view every stretch mark as a badge of honor, to see the joy in the jiggle of excess skin. These stories remind us that the loss of our figures is well worth the happiness of children.
There are also stories that range from women joking about flabby postpartum stomachs to those about resorting to extreme and often dangerous measures to get back “in shape.”
For better or worse, moms are constantly reminded of how our bodies will never be the same.
But, what if we viewed our postpartum figures as more than just a sacrifice? What if we were proud of our bodies? What if we loved our bodies? What if we loved them more than we ever did before we had kids?
I don’t love my body in spite of having kids. I love my body because I had kids.
You read right. I relish what producing humans has done to my body.
I love how my waist is accentuated by wider hips.
I love how milk has turned my mediocre breasts into boobs worthy of a Victoria’s Secret ad.
I love how I actually have some semblance of a booty after a lifetime of “flat ass syndrome.”
I love how I can put on a little black dress and totally rock it because becoming a mother has made me appreciate my body more than any arbitrary definition of “sexy” ever could.
I don’t lament the loss of my pre-pregnancy body. Sure, I was one or two (cough, cough 10 pounds) lighter, with tighter abs and less cellulite. But none of that gave me the connection and confidence in my body quite like having kids. My body made two human beings. How could I not think it’s the most awesome thing ever?