If I was a wanky reality TV celebfluencer I’d have made the front cover of the trashy mags with my postpartum weight loss; 30lbs in 3 weeks. Truth be told, I did absolutely bugger all to achieve it. I weighed 196lbs at the start of my pregnancy, borderline the 30 BMI boundary which the midwife at my booking in appointment kept reminding me of. But I am genetically blessed with a big booty and was carrying some generous COVID curves from overindulging during the lockdowns, so it didn’t phase me too much.
By the end of my pregnancy, I weighed 206lbs. Given my daughter weighed 9lbs, this wasn’t actually a huge gain. By 3 weeks postpartum I was down to 176lbs.
Many would see this as something to be celebrated. I’d achieved the holy grail ‘bouncing back’ and then some. Back to not just pre-baby weight, but into my pre-COVID jeans, all within just 21 days. Want to know the secret? It was a helluva lot of personal stress which had eaten away at my body, heartburn so bad I could barely keep food down and a minimal appetite for most of the 9 months I was pregnant. Sounds fun, right? Sign up here for more winning quick fix diet strategies!
But even though I might have been back in my size 12 skinny jeans, they didn’t fit properly. Because that’s the thing about having a baby; your body goes through SO MUCH it permanently changes in so many ways. Your boobs change, your posture changes, your hips are wider, your bum has lost muscle, your tummy is squishy and swollen with elastic skin. True ‘bouncing back’, as if your body had miraculously not been through any change at all, is near impossible, and in my eyes, shouldn’t be a desirable or healthy thing to pursue. Why deny the absolute miracle our bodies have performed? Why hide and shame away from all they continue to do, our walking skin bag the living and breathing proof of just how amazing we are?
I’m choosing to embrace my wibbly, wobbly, wonky, squishy, floppy bits. I’m choosing to love them for all they’ve done over the last few years and all they will do when I decide to do it all again. So this is me, seeing my new body for what it is, an ode to not bouncing back.
I see you in the mirror.
I see you prodding and poking, grabbing and grimacing.
I see your pillowy squishy tummy that your baby called home for 9 months.
I see your silvery purple “strength stripes” leaving their mark where your skin surrendered as your baby grew.
I see your bum flat and wobbly, the muscles gone to sleep from allowing yourself proper rest and recovery.
I see your wonky misshapen boobs keeping your baby full and nurtured.
I see your cracked leaky nipples, an all you can eat buffet to sate and sooth.
I see your shoulders tense from the never-ending mummy mental load.
I see your dark eye bags, heavy from months of interrupted sleep comforting baby and meeting their needs.
I see your spotty dehydrated skin and scruffy mum bun, putting everything else above your own self care.
I see your back stiff and sore from juggling ALLLL of the things to keep your family going.
I see your scars healing, the war wounds from the battle you fought to bring baby safely into your arms.
I see your vulva with the flicker of a pilot light while she recovers, still not quite feeling like your own. But she’ll be back again in time, a bright sensual flame standing proud in her power.
I see your body, strong and mighty, protecting your baby from the fractured, chaotic world they’ve been born into.
I see you in the mirror.
I see you’re incredible.
I see you’re really fucking incredible.
Ok I'm crying at the end part 😭