I was a 5’3″, 115 pound 23 year old with an hourglass figure when I got pregnant with my son. My teeny tiny (22 inches!) waist and flat tummy were my pride. I diligently slathered all kinds of creams all over my belly from the day I got a positive test. I ate a diet high in fruits, vegetables and whole grains. By 37 weeks along, I was starting to think maybe, just maybe I had escaped stretch marks. Ha! They popped up like crazy in the next 4 weeks.
I vaginally gave birth to a 10 pound, 23.5 inch baby boy 6 days after my due date. The weight came off quickly and I wore my pre pregnancy clothes out of the hospital. Everyone told me how great I looked. Well, that’s because they can’t see under my clothes. What they hide causes me untold amounts of distress. The pooch and skin folds, the love handles, the ugly, hideous stretch marks that cover my formerly beautiful mid-section. When I see myself, I can’t help but cry and feel gross.
I feel terrible about myself. I feel sorry for my husband, who only got to have a sexy wife for a few months (ours was a honeymoon baby). He says he still thinks I’m hot and not to worry about it, but I can’t help it. I’m a little bit heartbroken.
I’m 7 months post partum, now. That means only 2 months left until the whole “9 months on, 9 months off” rule has run out. I wish desperately that I could afford a personal trainer, but I can’t. I tried running for a bit and then an old knee injury from dancing reared it’s ugly head and I can’t do that (or much of any exercise) now. I’d like a 2nd child, but I’m terrified of what further damage would be done to my body, as terrible and vain as that sounds.
The first photo is of me right before getting pregnant. The rest are what I look like now, 7 months after having my son.
People say I look great, but underneath my clothes is where the truth lies. The ugly truth.