Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by Regina George (Jk 🙈). But seriously- raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by yourself. 🙋♀️ I’ve got my hand held high. I should really be waving both of them around like a crazy woman.
Personal info coming at ya live in 5…4…3…2…1…
Before I got pregnant with Ezra, I weighed 137 lbs. Birth weight was 174. And weight as of yesterday was 153. Obviously I gained more than I was supposed to and I still have several pounds to lose before I reach my pre-pregnancy weight… 16 lbs. to be exact and boy if I haven’t reminded myself daily. I also had zero stretch marks on my tummy my entire pregnancy. One week postpartum I lost 21 lbs. and gained a tummy full of stretch marks due to rapid weight loss. I was ecstatic about the weight loss but completely devastated by my new stripes.
Will my husband still find me attractive? Will I ever wear another two piece bathing suit? Will people judge me or be disgusted when they see them? Will Ezra one day ask me why I have those funny looking lines on my tummy when other people don’t?
These are questions I have asked myself time and time again. And they’re questions I’ve battled in my head over and over. And they are questions that need answers.
Will my husband still find me attractive? He assures me often that I’m beautiful- now I have to accept his uplifting comments for what they truly are and believe them. Will I ever wear another two piece bathing suit? Eventually. Not today, not tomorrow, and next week isn’t looking so promising either, but I’m working daily to get there. Will people judge me or be disgusted when they see them? Of course. There will always be someone who’s never been there or known someone with stretch marks and I can promise you someone will judge me. How do I know? Because I’ve been that person and I’m disgusted by myself for ever judging someone for being less than “perfect.” Will Ezra one day ask me about the funny lines on my tummy? I am 100% positive that the day will come and I’m honestly excited to tell him about them.
My stripes tell a story. They tell the story of what it took for me to bring life into this world. They tell the story of the heartache I went through to get here. They tell the story of how a woman’s body is able to do miraculous things. They tell the story of how I earned my stripes for my little man cub.
My stripes bring opportunity. The opportunity to overcome my fears. The opportunity for the world to view those with “imperfections” differently. The opportunity for me to teach Ezra that women come in many shapes, sizes, and patterns and that he is to love and respect them regardless of their appearance.
My body isn’t the same and it never will be. My boobs aren’t cute and perky anymore because they’ve sustained life. My tummy isn’t tight and it’s stamped with marks because it carried a life. I officially have a mom bod and I’m in the process of learning to be dang proud of it. My stripes are my badge of honor and I’ve more than earned them.