Mommy has a squishy tummy with excess skin that hangs over her pants. She can take a fist full of it and hold it in her hands, and she does, sometimes joking it’s a butt — but purely out of jest.
Her actual butt jiggles when she runs up and down the stairs, hitting her upper thighs with each step.
Speaking of her thighs, those now have cellulite.
Getting ready in the morning, she hardly has time to brush her teeth. She has her three-year-old daughter following her while she goes through her basic morning routine. So, most days, she only can glance in the mirror.
She knows her postpartum body is different, but she doesn’t have the time to focus on it to really notice its imperfect details — its blemishes and dimples.
Because time is not on her side in this season of her life.
It’s easy to tuck away those body insecurities once we become mothers. It’s easy to distract away from them, especially when there is so much more to think about. I mean, as mothers, we have the entire mental load in our hands.
But when we have a moment to swim out of the baby haze long enough to surface, we do see and feel differences.
But we shouldn’t hate them —
at least completely.
Because those imperfections tell a story —
the story of our children.
The story of how they came to be —
of how our stomachs grew and grew, and soon after, our babies were here.
Our bodies changed, but so did our lives.
This story progresses daily as our bodies continue to change shape: maybe with the addition of love handles or a slight abdominal pooch. Maybe things magically tighten up. It’s constantly evolving, just like how our children are.
The content of the story is the day to day with our children. The chapters are filled with what our bodies allow us to do with them. They are filled with memories and experiences, making us a little more like the velveteen rabbit — real because we are loved by our children.
So, our mom bodies are beautiful —
because they tell the story of motherhood.