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23 years old
one pregnancy, one birth (an adorable son)
I’m now 9 months postpartum. I have a few dresses: size 6, size 8, size 9. I have several jeans: size 8, size 9, size 10, size 13. I have shirts: S, M, L. I am between an A cup and a B cup. I am five foot seven inches and 160 lbs. My measurements are 36 (34A)-28.5-43. Dark brown hair. Blue green eyes.
What do these numbers mean? What do they make me?
They can’t give you any insights into my character.
They can’t tell you that I can hoist 250lbs+ with my “thunder thighs”.
They can’t describe the work I put in to do pull-ups.
They can’t tell you I have an IQ of 153. Or that I love books. Or that I have a warped, twisted sense of humor and love to laugh.
They can’t describe the lengths I will go to in order to help my friends: midnight phone calls, trips to the ER, “cheer-up” trips, lending money.
They don’t give you any idea of the pain I’ve felt in just the last nine months: my grandmother dying, an old friend writing me a good-bye e-mail and committing suicide before I could do anything, another friend lost both legs and an arm in Iraq, I worried about another friend possibly committing suicide, I worried about my own health postpartum, I worried about my relationship with my husband, I worried about my own body and attractiveness.
Those numbers won’t do you any good in telling you how I’ve battled an eating disorder for over a decade, or how I overcame the desire to self-injure years ago.
They also won’t do any good in telling you that I love comedy, drama, action, animals, psychology, running, swimming.
They won’t describe the incredible relationship I have with my husband or the overwhelming love we both have for our son.
THESE NUMBERS DON’T tell you anything IMPORTANT about me.
They say it takes nine months for your body to “go back to the way it was.” I respectfully disagree. My body is different, not less attractive nor more attractive. It’s very close to how I was pre-pregnancy, but I recognize the subtle differences in my curves and various lumps and bumps I looked in the mirror yesterday morning and saw my body as a whole instead of the usual random conglomeration of body parts haphazardly sewn together like some kind of disproportionate frankenstein. I am not the sum of round arms, chubby legs, lovehandles, thick calves, and a soft-but-toned stomach. I am just ME. And I say take ME as I am, because I don’t want part of any friendship or acquaintance with anyone who thinks a person can be summarized by a small, narrow scope provided by a few numbers.
I am beautiful. And my stretch marks and scars only add to my beauty and uniqueness as a person. I am happy with myself, and I hope that all you ladies on this site can find your own beauty too.