I have a love hate relationship with my body. I was obese or morbidly obese pretty much all my life, since the time I was 11. At least my mother kept telling me I was fat from that point on. I just lived up to her expectations I guess.
I took surgical measures to finally lose weight and lost 150 pounds and counting. I’ve weighed as much as 325 pounds and as little as 165 pounds. I’m 180 pounds and hoping to get to 150 pounds.
My body has carried 9 children within it, but only 8 survived.
My body has been sliced open to give birth once, and then I took control to give birth 7 more times without surgery. 6 of those births were in the comfort of my own home.
My body has nourished or tried to nourish all of my babies through my now saggy breasts.
My body has been ridiculed and adored. It has been loved and it has been hated. My body provides a safe place for my children to cuddle up on. In the future I hope my body will provide a safe place for other people’s children as a foster parent.
I may not have smooth skin, washboard abs, or perky breasts, but my body has a story because it’s been on a journey and that journey has really only begun.
~Age: I am 36 (1975 birth year)
~Number of pregnancies and births: 9 pregnancies, 1 miscarriage, 1 c/s, 1 hospital VBAC, 5 Unassisted Water Births, 1 Unassisted Home Birth.
~The age of your children, or how far postpartum you are:
G-12, G-11, B-9, B-8, B-6, G-5, B-3, G-1