shedding skin

my husband mentioned the other day that i was “looking fit”.
the truth is, i don’t. not even a little bit. i look loose, lumpy, and tired (of course), but i do not look one thing fit. i do, however, look like i’m trying and, perhaps, i look like that’s working. and, that’s good.
afterall, it can be a process accepting your child-bearing physique, sometimes a fraught one, and the journey doesn’t end when baby delight arrives for, as you may well know, you are transformed, in many ways, regardless of whether you continue to carry the life in you or any life-growing weight.

though making, nurturing, and delivering my children taught me just how powerful my body is, the months immediately following birth are challenging- awkward as my form adjusts: my bones with creaks and groans and my skin, out-of-place appearing. then, worse perhaps, the middle months, those lodged somewhere in the middle of my pregnant self, my post-partum self, and the self i feel i “should” look like.
i don’t mind being changed, as it is after making a life, but it does take me time and space to reconcile. like tonight, while getting out of the shower, i came face to face with myself in the mirror. with my hair slicked back, skin and stretch marks reddened, and my milk producing breasts dominating my proportions, there wasn’t a lot of self-love in the room.

it just wasn’t pretty.

fortunately, a heap of my sweaty clothes were also in view. i’m getting there, i thought, regardless of how long i have yet to go.

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