WARNING: Again, 18 and over only due to language
Somewhere around the sixth month of pregnancy, I knew my body was never returning to it's former glory. I know, I know. Your body bounced back three months postpartum. I'm sure you think if I just tried a little harder, my body would snap back and fit in to all my old things. That's great! If I had all the time in the world, I'd gladly dedicate my free hours to working hard on the bod, sweating away at the gym to tighten up this saggy tush and perk up my droopy rack. However, my few free hours a week is much better spent working on my mental health (Because let's be honest: being fit is all good and fun but it doesn't exactly prevent me from wanting to stuff Jackson in a suitcase and ship the little one off to a private school in Switzerland. Re-runs of Jersey Shore, on the other hand, are my miracle drug!). Before I even entertained the idea of kids, I was a body conscious individual. Even when I was, by societies standards, a thin woman, I always felt fat. I was embarrassed of my legs, ashamed of my muffin top, and aware of the way that clothes fit my frame. Spending countless hours poking and shifting the back rolls that erupted from under my bra strap and the ring of jelly that rested just under my butt cheeks, I'd pick apart my physique. Every time I sat on the toilet, I'd stare at the skin that slipped past the toilet seat, measuring how many finger widths my thighs protruded over. These flaws could be fixed if I just tried hard enough. The problem is I never really tried. As much as I wanted that tight little body, my mind was always more driven by the prospect of having a fun weekend filled with alcohol and Street Meat. (No, I'm not a prostitute or a buyer of such. If you get it, you get it. If you don't, you're missing out on the best (possibly contaminated) post-club treat ever!) Pregnancy changes the body. People who say they 'snap back' after pregnancy are few and far between. Yeah, you may end up just as skinny, maybe even skinner! But the bones never really settle back just the same way. Your skin feels different. Depending on your size, your breasts change texture. Things just change. It's not always for the worst, but it definitely is an eye opener when your scale congratulates you for reaching your pre-pregnancy weight but your jeans are still sausaged somewhere between your ass and that muffin. Now admittedly, I had a period of grieving over the loss of my old body after giving birth to Jackson. He was fifteen pounds! It would be fucking embarrassing to get dressed, and I would dread heading out to be around others because I knew what was coming.
People love to stare. Look you up and down, searching for all the ways you've failed at getting back to where you once were physically. Friends of mine do it and don't even realize I know they do it! Or maybe they do and don't care. I'm not an idiot, so when you look me in the eyes, and then very obviously scan up and down my body only stopping to examine my mid section, I know you're silently critiquing me. If you're ever interested in asking me about my body, just do it! I have no shame and would gladly show you what I'm packing under my shirt.
I don't give a fuck anymore. I've started filling my closet with things that I love because they are awesome, not because some stupid magazine promoting eating disorders thinks it the 'in' thing. First, I started by addressing my legs. I have cankles, scars from surgeries and ingrown hairs, and horrible hair growth patterns combined with very coarse hair. Anyone who knows me know that I use to hate my legs with a burning passion. One day I just said 'fuck it' and I fixed it. I tattooed those suckers with things I found beautiful, and BAM! They're no longer an issue. In fact, now I look for excuses to show my legs off! Yes, they still are covered in perma-hair dots. Yes, they still have cellulite. Yes, I still have cankles. But I am also the owner of beautiful art. I am a fucking walking canvas, bitches! Just as people fail to notice the cracks in the plaster at the Sistine Chapel, people now get distracted by my tattoos when they look at my legs. Eyes no longer focus on my scars. It's been one of the most positive life changing decisions I've ever made.
Now, buying clothes is a fun experiment. I'm no longer facing the constraints of choosing clothes that hide flaws. Instead, I now by things I think look awesome! Some things don't work out (because I still in my mind picture my body as a perky sixteen year old's) but the things that do make my life a little brighter!
If you don't like my fake pleather leggings that I bought from stripper clothing site online, I don't care. They may highlight the fact that my legs are chunky, but I don't give a flying assfuck. They look awesome with my tunics. If you don't like my tank top with the little bunny unicorns, I don't care. They're cute and you most likely have no imagination.
If you don't like my back fat that bulges around my bra, I don't care. My new bra is hot and I hear no complaints from Doctor Oliver. Feel free to stand in front of me if you don't like the back view.
If you think I look like a stuffed sausage in my new red dress, I don't care. My tits look awesome in it and I don't need to hide my chub for your comfort. So, excuse me while I teach my son how to celebrate the people for who they are, not what they wear.
Be kind, be caring, be kinky.