I’m 26-years-old. My son was born about two weeks before my 25th birthday. My pregnancy was not planned and I spent the entire pregnancy trying to come to grips with being a mother (which I haven’t quite done yet).
My birth was a 43-hour-long, unmedicated journey aided by my mother and husband and a hospital midwife. Afterward I hemorraged and nearly died. From there on, my physical condition was continually miserable for at least three months straight (back went out and I was unable to walk–had to crawl around my house, taking care of my son by myself while my husband was at work at least 12 hours a day–living overseas in a city where I do not speak the local language and have no transportation other than public transport to depend on). I also had horrible post-partum depression. Breastfeeding was miserable and brought pain, itching and infection which no western or holistic treatments seemed to cure (and I tried EVERYTHING!)–I just endured it for five months until my son refused to breastfeed anymore. This is basically the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my experience with pregnancy, childbirth and the aftermath.
So, when I look at the stretch marks on my body and all the extra weight I have tried and tried to lose and seem to be unable to, it isn’t sweet memories I’m thinking of.
Others have told me to just focus on my son and how great everything is to be a mother (which is kind of a fairytale notion too in my opinion–as for me motherhood is hard work, lots of sacrifice and a tiny bit of reward thrown in). They dismiss my sadness and hatred of my body as pure vanity. I disagree. I don’t show in the photo here, but my breasts went from a B cup to a DD and now are a D cup. Some ladies might wish for this–I can’t stand them! I never wanted large breasts. My husband doesn’t even like large breasts–he thinks they are weird and scary. They droop and drag and have just as many stretch marks on them as my belly does–my nipples point south–like the funny cartoon of the old lady who has to lift her skirt to flash you her breasts. I never am without a bra–I now sleep in one and wear one 24-hours/day just because it is uncomfortable to wake up with my boob under my ear or somewhere it wasn’t meant to go.
Anyway, so I wonder where the time machine is that can take me back to pre-baby so I can have a “do over.” If you find it, please notify me immediately.