40 and finally accepting (Ruth)

Hi, I’m a 40 year old mother of three. My last pregnancy was my third and last Caesarean section 14 years ago. I had heavy babies, and at my heaviest (during pregnancy) I have weighed 210lbs. I now weigh 154lbs and wear a UK size 12. I have an overhang which I don’t think I’ll ever lose without surgery. I do Yoga daily and my body is very strong, but my skin is very loose! Everything else on my body escaped pretty much unscathed, except my tummy which I am still self conscious of, but less so than in my younger days.

If my pictures help any other mother to feel ‘normal’ (I mean, what’s that anyway??) then I’ll be happy. I spent too many years hating my body, despite the miracles it has performed.

Time to accept it and begin to love myself again.

All in due time – There is hope (Joss)

Age: 27
Number of Pregnancies: 3

I had my first child when I was 18. Before her I had a beautiful body, that I was proud of. (Of course most 18 year olds do) After I had her I had NO idea what i was “supposed” to look like or what it was going to do to my body. I wish I had found this site back then. I was so depressed I refused to look at Victoria Secret catalogue’s or associate myself with anyone who could wear a bikini. I was beside myself because of how “messed up” my stomach was. Fast forward a year and I was still so upset about how I looked even though looking back NOW, my stomach looked fine. I swore and knew I was never going to show my stomach to the light of day or public ever again. I had two more children over the last 6 years, and of course my stomach has only gotten worse. (Saggier) I walked around with a heavy weight on my shoulders year after year, and became a single mom. I was depressed for so long. I always felt like no one would ever want me and I wasn’t good enough.

Between a major depression, anxiety, and agoraphobia, I started practicing meditation and exercising (which miraculously pulled me out of that state) I found a happiness with myself again. Which in turn had its affects. I have a much longer story but my main point of this post is to let all the beautiful mommies out there know that it’s ok to be in your skin. It took me 4 years after my last child born to accept my body. A big influence was pole dancing (I’m not saying that’s what you need to do, to feel better about yourself) But it was my outlet and helped me gain my confidence back. I found this site probably 6 years ago and I checked in on it over the years to hear other woman’s stories, to not feel alone. Today was the day I felt like it was appropriate to tell my story , since yesterday I wore a bikini at the pool for the first time in about 10 years. I was scared about the looks I’d get and it felt so uncomfortable, but I f****** did it! I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was a mommy, and I had my three babies with me and we were having fun in the sun. It was a liberating feeling! If people didn’t like it, they didn’t have to look at me.

I actually bought a top that shows my stomach a little bit. I’ll find somewhere to wear it. Lol
I woke up this morning and felt skinny and took a picture. In this picture I’ve had 3 children and my last is 4 years old. The skin on my stomach isn’t pretty or “tight” anymore, but I’m happy with my body, it doesn’t matter what the rest of the world thinks. I wish anyone who reads this, a new found love for their mommy body. I hope to be an advocate for mothers who’s bodies are “different”. Sending positive vibes and love.

062618-joss-1

Wonder Woman is Real

Originally posted on Instagram.

011118-wonderwomanisreal-1

I know I don’t have the perfect body. This body has born three beautiful souls into this world and nothing has taken a harsher toll on my body.
I know I don’t have a perfect body I have had weight issues all of my life due to life struggles. But I never give up and everyday I struggle a little bit with food. It’s much easier now that I am vegan as I get full so much easier but it has put marks and stretches to my body that will never go away.
I know I don’t have the perfect body with a chest that seems to never stop growing larger no matter what I do, but I am learning to love my defects as a part of me. Trying to find the beauty in the flaws. Everyday I try. Most days I lose but thanks to all of you and the love you give back to me I have days that I win too. Thank you all. Love you!

Gotham City Garage
Wonder Woman by me (custom wig by @officialherohair and costume by @sewwhat73 )
Photo by our #cosdad @cosplayer_gallery

I just weaned my last child! (Mom of 3)

I am a 32 year old mother of three children; ages 3,8,11.

My youngest/last child and I are two days into weaning!

I was 21 when I gave birth to my first child. That pregnancy was crazy on my body. I gained almost 65lbs and struggled afterward with what know was post partum depression. I breastfed him for 13 months and abruptly weaned him since I believed the hype that he was “too old” to nurse much longer. With my second child I gained 55 lbs. and breastfed him till he was 2.5 yrs. old. To stave off another round of ppd, at seven days post partum I restarted on an antidepressant medication ( I was diagnosed with major depression but got off the meds when I discovered I was pregnant) and didn’t get ppd. My last pregnancy was not easy. I was hospitalized since for 3 days I littearly could not stop thowing up and then passed out at my child’s doctor apt due to dehydration. The rest of my pregnancy was like that, constant throwing up when ever I move or eat or didn’t eat enough. Luckily, my then four yr. old is a sympathetic and patient child and my oldest was in school. I gained 40ish lbs. with my last pregnancy, and a line of stitches in my cervix to go with the stiches on my perineum from my first baby. Some hemorrhoids made them selves at home while I was pregnant with my daughter and I think i messed up my urethra, since I leak when I jump or laugh. My daughter is my last. I made sure of that by having a tubal litigation right after she was born.

I think I have always had body issues since high school being chubby or just thicker than others in my group, then restricting my diet to fit a certain look. the funny thing is, in high school I almost starved my self to my current weight of 121. but now I am two to three pant sizes bigger then I wore then. I remember when I was pregnant with my first and at about four months in I tried on my size 4 jeans. I was devastated that they wouldn’t go past my knees! then when my 34c/d breasts ballooned to ??? size where even a 38ddd barley coved my areola and my breasts got interesting white stretch marks on them over the weekend i got engorged right after my child was born. I thought that I could never be seen as pretty again, that i might never be happy again, that it was the worse event of my life! Lol, of course not. My husband was across the country on a military base from 7 months along until two weeks after our 1st baby was born. Then he shipped out to Iraq shortly after. I lost a bunch of weight, became very unhealthy and then saw him once at 8 months pp and finally moved back with him after his deployment when our child was 13 months. I was so skinny everything drooped. my breasts, stomach, and twiggy legs, nursing took my once ample behind and sucked it try to panckakeish proportions. My husband saw me nude and at once asked me what happened to my thickness? I was mortified and hated the way I looked. Over time I gained my weight back to a healthy126 and after my second i lost a lot of weight, but worked out to keep mucule tone. My body has kept it self healthy after my third child.

Over the course of the last 11 yrs I have birthed my 3 children, experienced personal tragedies, near death sickness of my second child due to sepsis, divorce, depression, getting on my own two feet, getting healthy, and seeing my children succeed! My children have done the most amazing transformation to my heart and mindset and shaped my life goals as much as they have changed my body. I have spent a total of almost 7 years breastfeeding, actually nurturing bodies of little humans. It’s incredible! I don’t mind the marks so much. I would love to not have a stomach pouch that hangs over my pants when I sit down or that bunches up all lumpy from a tear in my ab wall but I try to not make a big deal of if for my children, especially my almost four yr old daughter who “wants to get a big belly like mine so she can drive a car.” I was talking with a 38 yr old mom of 2 and Zumba instructor who reminded me that every mother has those marks and flabby skin on their stomachs, even female body builders, maybe they don’t have fat but they do have the hanging skin and marks. I would rather have them and be a mother then rocking my 20 yr old taut stomach and full breasts.

Back again! With another boy! (Anonymous)

Age: 26
3 months post partum

First post here, second post here.

This is my 3rd time submitting my story, and a lot has changed in the last 5.5 years!

I had my first son at 19 (now 7) a natural hospital birth, no complications. He was 6lbs 14oz and i breast fed him for 9 months.

I got pregnant with my second son when my oldest was only 10 months old, i was 21 when i gave birth to him. Another all natural hospital birth, he was 7lbs 14oz and i breast fed him for 1 year, he is now 5.

My husband and i were done having children, or so we thought. July 31st 2016, i found out we were expecting once more. We were excited and scared, we have our hands full with our 7 and 5 year old boys. But we welcomed the challenge! Instantly this pregnancy was different, i was sick and crampy, so i had an ultrasound done at 7 weeks. The baby had implanted to low and had an abnormal gestational sac, we were given a 50/50 chance of it surviving. So again at 9 weeks we went back, and to our amazement the sac was normal and the baby was growing upward! So i was cleared to have my dream delivery, at a birthing center!

Everything went smoothly the next few months, i was sick all of the time, but hey, that can happen when you’re pregnant! Then came our 22 week anatomy scan. It was our 3rd son! He looked great, measured perfect, but i had partial placenta previa, which meant my placenta had grown in the lower part of my uterus and was touching my cervix. The dr. Said it was such a mild case he was not concerned, and was certain it would migrate upward as my uterus grew.

Again smooth sailing until my follow up 28 week ultrasound. My partial placenta previa was now a complete placenta previa and i could no longer have a vaginal delivery. I was put on bed rest and told to look forward to having a csection at 37 weeks. So my placenta went from touching my cervix to completely covering it, i was absolutely devastated!

Before i had time to even find a regular ob (5 days later), because i could no longer go to the birthing center, i woke up to bleeding and off to the er we went. They were able to stop the bleeding and give my 2 rounds of steroids for the baby. After a 2 day stay in the hospital we went home on even stricter bedrest.

Then at 30 weeks i was woken up to the sensation of my water breaking, only to discover it was not water at all, it was blood, and i was bleeding out right there in my bed. We drove 10 min to our closest er, where i was airlifted to a hospital with a level 3 nicu. As if i wasn’t scared enough They lost the babies heartbeat in the helicopter and i feared the worst. Once we landed they were able to find his heart beat, faint, but there.

They rushed me up to L&D to discover not only was i loosing a massive amount of blood and clots, i was contracting every 3 minutes. So they made the decision to do an emergency csection.

My little boy was born at 30 weeks weighing 3lbs 7oz and 16.5 ” long, he is our little fighter!

He spent 8 long heart breaking weeks in the nicu. Talk about a Rollercoaster, he was up and Down for the first few weeks.

We are now 3 months post partum, and i am so blessed he and I both lived, the drs and nurses told us we were very close to not making it.

So now i carry a scar as a reminder of what we went through. I’m not happy with my stomach, but I’m trying very hard to take it easy on myself. I have good and bad days, i didn’t realize how difficult the recovery from a csection would be.

God has blessed me with 3 Amazing little boys, so i will try and carry this body with pride!

1st picture: 29 weeks prego (the last picture i was able to get pregnant)

2nd and 3rd picture: 3 days post partum

Pictures 4-7: now, 3 months post partum, including my scar

The Shape of Me (Anonymous)

I’ve struggled with body image too long. I was never aneroxic or bulimic. But I restricted calories and over excercise. When my third was born I got ppd real bad. It was the first time in my life I had to put the focus on my mental health 100%. Fast forward three years later…….. I have a 9,6,3 1/2 year old. I have been working out a ton. But it has hard to accept my curvier softer self. Why is this? It shouldn’t be this way!

032117-anon-1

The Others (Anonymous)

Your Age: 36

Number of pregnancies and births: 3 pregnancies. 1 birth, 2 abortions

The age of your children: Son born September of 2008. Abortion in 1997 at eight weeks and in 2009 at four.

I have always had depression and anxiety, I have no memory of a time when they weren’t present; according to my family I was an anxious infant. I began seeing a psychologist at around age six. After much pleading, and at the recommendation of my psychologist, my parents finally agreed to let me take psychiatric medication at seventeen. It was like the world opened up. Suddenly things that had seemed difficult were attainable. I remember being excited to drive to the house of a friend who lived an hour away. Goddamn, that sounds pathetic.

Post medication I wouldn’t describe myself as being ‘fixed’ but I was certainly far more functional. I could hold down a job and was able to live on my own.

When I was twenty-seven my husband and I decided to have a baby and I went off my medication to do so. I thought I’d be okay.

The only reason I didn’t kill myself when I was pregnant was because I knew I would fuck it up, kill my baby, lose my nerve and then have to live with that the rest of my life. I was very aware of the point in my pregnancy when having an abortion would no longer be legal and up until that point there was always the voice in the back of my mind that if I needed to I could still back out. I wanted a baby very much, I wanted this baby very much, but I was catastrophically depressed. I had vivid dreams where I killed myself and/or my child.

And he was my child. From the very first moment I found out I was pregnant I wanted him, I loved him. I wanted him before he was even conceived.

I thought things would be better after I gave birth, but I was wrong. He was a month early. It’s possible he was early because I was so depressed that I was barely able to eat and he wasn’t getting the proper nutrients. Who knows.

I was hospitalized for the first time when he was eight weeks old. After much deliberation, and many conversations with friends, family and health professionals, I signed myself in voluntarily because I wasn’t able to function. I was unable to sleep, even when my son was sleeping, and at the time that I signed myself in I hadn’t slept for approximately two weeks and was starting to hallucinate.

While I was in the hospital I was able to see my son once daily in a cold, brightly lit conference room that was one floor below the psych ward. I brought a small manual breast pump with me to try to keep up my milk supply and pumped several times a day and throughout the night. Because of the medication I was given I had to throw most of it away.

I was released after a week.

When he was twelve weeks old I was readmitted after taking an overdose of a Ativan. I blacked out in the emergency room as they were placing an IV catheter.

My first memory after passing out is standing naked in front of the mirror in the bathroom off my hospital room and seeing my milk swollen breasts covered in the sticky residue from the EKG leads. I was emaciated because I had been fighting to breastfeed in spite of not being able to eat. To be honest I’m not even sure if that memory is true.

I have been hospitalized since then.

But what I want to talk about, what I feel doesn’t get talked about enough, are the pregnancies I chose not to carry to term.

The first time I got pregnant I was seventeen and about a month away from beginning my senior year. I had just started taking medication for my depression and anxiety. My boyfriend (A) and I had been together for about six months and things were great. We had both had prior sexual relationships but we were each other’s first loves. We were pretty careful over all but there was one night where we got carried away. He didn’t ejaculate inside me. Didn’t even get close. But there was penetration without a condom and apparently that was enough.

When my period was late I took a test. The line was very faint but it was there. A and I looked at it and tried to convince ourselves otherwise but there was no denying it. I told my mother and she took me to the doctor. The nurse congratulated me and calculated my due date as I sobbed.

When I went to A’s house after the doctor his first words to me after I told him the home test had been accurate were, “You’re going to have an abortion, right?”

I was always pro-choice. I always had in my mind that if the situation arose I would have an abortion without a second thought. I would tell every new partner that he had a choice: to know or to not know. A was the one who was pro-life and suddenly he didn’t want to discuss it. I wanted to discuss it. I didn’t think I wanted a baby but I loved A and there was a part of me that imagined the three of us together as a family.

It was 1997, RU-486 wasn’t available, and the clinic told me that I would have to wait until I was eight weeks along to have a surgical abortion.

We did end up talking about it, A and I. We did lots of talking in the four weeks between when I found out I was pregnant and my appointment at the clinic. I had been unsure that I ever wanted to have a child but during that four weeks I realized that I did. Someday.

I had made the appointment for a Friday so that I would have the weekend to recover before going back to school. The clinic was 45 minutes away from where we lived and it was to be an all day affair. We arrived in the morning and were shuffled from room to room. I filled out endless amounts of paperwork, took a pregnancy test, had my blood type checked (they screwed it up*), saw a counselor, and had an ultrasound. Between each step we waited in rooms with other women who were either with a partner or friend. No one talked much or made eye contact.

A was in the room with me for the ultrasound. I asked to see it and the technician seemed a little uncomfortable. She left it up on the screen when she stepped out of the room for a moment. We both looked, A and I. The image was still and grainy.**

After hours of waiting and paperwork and testing and talking and somehow even more waiting they led me away from A and into the secure part of the clinic.

They took my vitals, gave me a key on a plastic bungee to put around my wrist like at a public pool and directed me to a bathroom with lockers. I took off my clothes, stowed them in the locker corresponding with my key, put on a hospital gown from the pile on the shelf and went to meet the nurse.

I was taken to a small room and given a sedative.

The nurse was kind, she stroked my forehead and said it would be okay. The doctor introduced himself but all I remember of him is how the powder from his gloves had collected in the creases of his hands which I noticed when he shook mine. I remember looking up at the ceiling and seeing fall leaves through a skylight, but I don’t think that’s right. I don’t think that’s a true memory because I think the room was in the basement. I don’t know if the doctor is a true memory either.

I do know that I felt a pinch deep inside, and in that split second I thought I could still get up and leave and have it not happen. But I didn’t leave and then there was only the gentle hum of the machine.

When it was over the nurse lead me to a room full of reclining chairs set in a half circle facing a television playing an endless loop of aftercare instructions.

Upstairs everyone had been looking at everyone else out of the corners of their eyes. Down here women were looking at each other directly, telling their stories and asking questions. One woman talked about her young daughter and how she couldn’t possibly support another child.

The first time they had me get up to leave I nearly passed out in the bathroom. I tried to wipe the blood off but it just seemed like there was more where it came from no matter what I did. I started to get dizzy and then went for help soaking the tops of my socks in blood as I shuffled down the hall to the nurse’s station.

The second time I got up I felt much better and was able to get cleaned and dressed quickly. I met with a nurse about aftercare and birth control and then was brought out of the secure area. A was waiting for me on the front steps of the clinic smoking a cigarette. He drove us back to my mom’s house and we watched the movies we’d rented earlier in the week.

A and I were together for a little over a year all told. Approximately six months before and six months after the pregnancy, maybe a little more or less in either direction. He broke up with me and it was all the more painful because I had pictured having a child with him someday. We stayed in touch for a few years, he went into the marines and I went to college, and somewhere we lost touch.

There were times when I thought what if. Absolutely. I would sit in the tiny little one bedroom apartment that I loved in the shitty part of town and wonder for a moment where on earth I’d fit a child into my life. The answer was always no where.

Regret isn’t the word. Ambivalent relief is closer.

Eleven years after my first abortion, while I was pregnant with my son, A got back in touch through a mutual friend. He apologized for ‘making’ me have the abortion and for leaving. He said he thought we could have made it work and that he had made a mistake. We’ve been in touch regularly in the past eight years and our interactions are always positive. He has a four year old son with an ex girlfriend and his current girlfriend has two children. He’s a great guy and I value the relationship that we have.

The third time I found out I was pregnant my son was a year old. I had planned to get an IUD or Essure when he was six weeks old but that had been derailed by my experience with postpartum depression and previously undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I had actually made an appointment with an OBGYN (my son was delivered by a midwife) for birth control but got lost on the way there and then my son began to cry because he was hungry. I had a panic attack and went home. I begged my husband to get a vasectomy but he would just say that I was going to change my mind and want another baby someday.

We used condoms, although clearly not compliantly, and I took Plan B on two occasions when a condom slipped.

I’m not sure when exactly I got pregnant but I took a test two days before my son’s first birthday. I said to my husband, “Fuck, this thing says I’m pregnant.” It was four in the morning when I took the test and as soon as the nearest clinic opened I called to make an appointment.

It was 2009 and RU-486 was available so I was able to make an appointment for the next day instead of having to wait until I was farther along.

My husband refused to go with me to the clinic because he was angry with me. He wanted me to continue the pregnancy in spite of the danger to my health. Our roommate drove me instead.

Even though it happened more recently the second time is less memorable than the first. I know I filled out paperwork, had a physical and blood work, but not much sticks out. This time there wasn’t much to see on the ultrasound, just the amniotic sac, since I was only about four weeks along. I asked for a printout of the ultrasound and it’s in a box along with the things I saved from my son’s first birthday. This time when they offered me RhoGam I declined. I told them that if it were just a case of bad timing I would continue the pregnancy, but it wasn’t just bad timing, I can never have another child.

I met with a counselor and it turned out that she had worked at the clinic I had gone to the first time during the time I had gone there. It was twelve years later and we were halfway across the country from where we’d been but here we were.

I cried as I talked to her and she commented that I seemed really angry. I hadn’t realized that I was until she pointed it out. I was angry at myself for not having been more careful – I still don’t know where we screwed up – and I was very angry at my husband for not listening to me when I told him I didn’t want and couldn’t have any more children.

They gave me the mifepristone to swallow there at the clinic and the misoprostol to take home with me to insert into my vagina the next day. They also gave me a prescription for Vicodan before sending me home.

On my son’s first birthday I inserted the misoprostol tablets, took a Vicodan, and waited. It didn’t hurt much. The bleeding picked up considerably in the middle of the night and when I sat down on the toilet there was so much blood pouring out so quickly that it sounded like I was urinating. I had planned on trying to look for it so that I could see it but I just didn’t have the energy to turn on the lights, let alone fish around in the toilet for a tiny lump of flesh.

The second time was much easier. I knew what it was like to have an abortion and I knew what it was like to have a child. The choice was pretty clear. The pill felt much less invasive as well since I was able to be in my own home. I didn’t experience much discomfort, the Vicodan made me feel relaxed and I mostly slept.

I would say that both of my abortion experiences were pretty positive given the circumstances. I didn’t have much pain either time, nor do I have regrets. I feel bad for A that he ultimately wasn’t happy, I feel bad for my husband, who wanted more children, and for my son who wanted siblings, but for myself I feel thankful that abortion was an option available to me.

I’ve started talking about my abortions more frequently and openly in the hopes that if I put a real live human face on it I might be able to change some minds. I’d found myself getting irritated that there are so many high profile women who are willing to say they’re pro choice and yet so few have come forward with their own stories, but then I realized I was doing a much smaller version of the same thing. Arguing in hypotheticals isn’t as effective as using particulars. If I can sit down with my pro life friends and tell them about my experiences maybe next time they go to vote they’ll think of me, an actual woman they know and like, and vote differently. It’s important that we keep abortion safe, legal, affordable, and accessible because, as we’ve learned over and over, making it illegal doesn’t stop it.

So I’ve started talking, and I hope more women do to.

030617-anon-1

My Body: 3 Years Postpartum (Anonymous)

I am a mother of 3, my last one was in July of 2013. I was obese at the time, and my son was a 10-pound baby, so my canvas was not the cleanest when I set myself to lose weight.

I went from an unknown weight (probably 180, 5ft2in) down to an average of 130lbs. I’m very athletic, run, cycle, and a good amount of strength training. My diet is dang-near impeccable, with occasional slips on date night, taco Tuesday, or a glass of wine after a long day.

What I’m getting at is: I am doing everything right…as best as I can! But my mommy belly will not go away. It’s like I have a thick shield of fat on top on my abdomen that doesn’t match the rest of me.
I’ve made peace with saggy, stretchy, stripey skin…but the belly fat is pretty unwelcome.
I have read all kinds of health columns, and have been patient, but it seems like there is no use.
Is there anything I need to know that the columns aren’t telling me about the realistic expectations I should have about my fat? Am I truely an exception to all of the advice out there on the WWW?
Please help give me hope or at least peace of mind. I’m tired of feeling like a failure.

Thank you for your time!

~Age: 30
~Number of pregnancies and births: 3
~The age of my children, and how far postpartum I am: 6, 4, and 3. Three years postpartum.

3rd Time Wasn’t a Charm (Anonymous)

Ages at births: 21, 23, 26
4 months pp
Weight gained with pregnancies: 20lb, 30lb, 27lbs
Pictures are 38 weeks preggo with #3, 4 months pp side and front view with Cesarean scar

I posted on here after my first two babies forever ago it seems, seemed appropriate to do it again. My first birth was an epidural with vaccum assist, my second was natural, so when we found out we were expecting our third baby I naturally assumed we’d have another “normal” for us birth. I have always gone into labor naturally, once on my due date, once the day after, but with our third I began have prodromal labor two weeks before. Nightly I’d experience painful contractions until around midnight. They became normal, 3 days before my due date I woke up at 5 am and knew it would be the day, we packed to head to the hospital 2 hours away, dropped our older two off and were excited to meet our little man. I was 7 centimeters when we arrived, and 2 hours later I was fully dilated and pushing…then my doctor says. ” I see a scrotumn! I’ve never done a breech birth before! ” in pain and wanting to be done, I consented to a c-section. And here is where I begin to struggle, I hated my birth, I know it got me a healthy baby and we are both OK! But I hate my body because of it, not sure if it was a 3rd pregnancy or the c-section, but my tummy is NOT to my liking. I feel like i failed my body having a csection. I know too it’s only been 4 months, but I began exercise as soon as I got my go ahead and I can’t even shake these last 10 pounds. I am breastfeeding so maybe that’s why, but I’m discouraged and frustrated and know I shouldn’t be. I’ve got 3 healthy kids, and I’m healthy, why isn’t that enough for me? Why do I feel the need to fit into the pre-pregnant me? Knowing all these things doesn’t make them easier to accept for me. So that’s where I’m at.

The Result of Growth (Chloe)

I’m built very petite (5’2″, 100-105 lbs when I’m not pregnant or nursing) and yet three times, I’ve given birth to nine pound babies (my boys are almost 12, 9, and almost 7). It’s taken me time, but I’ve learned to love, honor, and respect the fact that my body that so often feels so small and vulnerable was able to grow and accommodate such big babies. I had to have c-sections because of the width of my pelvis and for a long time that felt like a failure- but now I honor that, too. The loose skin that buckles and puckers when I bend or sit is a physical representation of all the growing and expanding my body and soul have had to do, in order to become a mother. How could that possibly be ugly?

-Chloe, age 33

031016-chloe-2

031016-choe-1