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For those of you Flickr-savvy go join the new group and add your photos to the pool! (As far as I know, the photos must not be private, so no nudity allowed there, but there are plenty of beautiful shots we can share anyway.)

This blog has been up and running for over two weeks now and I could never have guessed how much it would have changed me. I’ve realized since March or so that I wasn’t alone, but my outlook on the female body – on my own body – has completely and utterly changed since July 5th. I’ve seen so many stretchmarks over the past weeks that it is the norm to me now. I see them as beautiful. And I don’t mean I see the beauty in them – cause I was always able to see that to a degree – but I see the marks themselves, specifically, as beautiful.

Growing up I always hated my body. Likely I would not have admitted it because I knew was “wrong” to think I was fat, but I could not stop comparing myelf to all the thin girls with taut tummies and thin thighs. I never was overweight, but I also wasn’t terrifically toned. Oh, but the numbers… I somehow had this idea in my head that 125 pounds was The Right Weight. And so when I hit that at 12 years old, 5’2″ tall, and then continued growing, I felt sick to my stomach by the time the scale read 160 pounds when my 5’9″ body graduated high school. Looking back, I realize that’s a totally acceptable weight for my frame (and I’d kill to be there now! But I won’t give up my white chocolate M&Ms and herein lies the true problem, no?) but at the time, I was completely crushed. I worked sound for my high school’s show choir and I’d sit there and watch the girls with their beautifully thin arms do “jazz hands” yet, when I tried to replicate it in the bathroom mirror (HA yes, now you know I dance in the bathroom for myself – you know you do it, too!!!), I saw giant flabby marshmellows bigger than my head. Funny thing: looking at old pictures recently I discovered that my own arms were thin and beautiful back then! Why couldn’t I see it? Even though I struggled against hating my body, even though I told myself over and over again, “I’m not fat!” I felt I was. It makes me grieve for what I had back then, and it breaks my hear to know the pain that girl once felt.

I have no pictures of my unscarred tummy and I wish I had because that memory has been washed from my mind now. All I can see is this loose, striped flab. I just wish I could have a realistic glimpse of what I really looked like back then.

But now that I’ve got this site, honestly for the first time ever I am feeling less and less shame about my body! I no longer feel like I have to hide my ugly tummy from my family! I’m far from wearing a bikini, but that is more due to my own feelings of nakedness, rather than from shame.

I was talking to a friend about this site and mentioned letting my 4 year old daughter see it. My friend joked that I shouldn’t scare her about pregnancy yet, but I really believe that if these images are there in her brain now – even just subconsiously as she walks through the room when I have the site up – if these images are there, maybe, just maybe, she will have a better idea of what “normal” is. Maybe it won’t be so painful to her to look in a mirror. Perhaps she will have a better idea of what she really looks like. I want both of my children to know what women, and people in general, truly look like. I want them to know normal.

Anyway, it’s late and I’ve rambled on for long enough. Thank you to each and every woman who has participated or left a comment or passed on the link or even just been touched by it. I feel like we are coming together to create this amazing thing, let’s push it forward so everyone can benefit!

My own pictures (you can see my current belly up at the top of this site or on the “Who I Am” page)…

Fresh ZebraBelly stripes at the end of my first pregnancy.

4 Weeks pregnant with #2. I took this photo totally for myself, never expected to share it with even my own husband, let alone the internet. I had completely forgotten about this until recently and since it’s not longer shameful to me, here it is. Even still, the shorts are carefully obscuring the fat flap.

12 weeks pregnant. I stopped taking bare-bellied photos after this for the most part. I couldn’t stand to look at them.

28 weeks. Laying on my back always seemed to help the fat fall into the right places, so I took a shot of my belly button popped halfway out. It never did fully pop, and I think my son was right underneath it in this picture.

We had a little fun with henna at my blessing about a month before my son was born. I never did get new stretchmarks with the second pregnancy.

Caren has written her own entry here.

I think this site is amazing! I?ve had body issues for a VERY long time. I was stick thin throughout much of my childhood, I remember in middle school someone joking with me that the crap food I was eating would catch up with me, I laughed at them, now I LOATHE them. Because it did! By high school I developed, I don?t remember ever buying a bra in a cup size smaller then C? I was ashamed of my body and my chest. I hid them as best I could, sport bras worked great at this. I struggled with my weight, never feeling pretty enough or thin enough. Being tall and wishing I was the tiny, cute cheerleader? it sucked!

In 2001 I managed to lose 30 pounds and for once in my life actually liked my body. Slowly the weight crept back on though and by the time I got pregnant in 2006 I was right back where I started, at least it was gradual right? HA! I was really worried what pregnancy might do to my body, but dieting while trying to conceive was darn near impossible. Each month that my period showed I needed to drown my sadness and when my period wasn?t here I didn?t want to diet IN CASE I was pregnant?. You get the picture.

So I started my pregnancy at the overweight range for my height. And somehow I never loved myself more, I actually loved the belly I was growing and wore it proudly. I was fine with showing early, I wanted the world to know I had finally achieved the goal I had worked so hard for. So, I ate everything I could for the first 26 weeks or so, then came the diagnosis for Gestational Diabetes. I was devastated. Again my body issues resurfaced, because to me this was an indication that I was fat and/or unhealthy. The diet depressed me, who wants to diet when they?re pregnant? Well let me tell you, that that diet was the BEST thing that ever happened to me. It made me stop pigging out, and made me take notice. My weight gain slowed down and I was able to control the GD with diet! Best of all, my daughter was safe, as I had done my job.

Towards the end of my pregnancy the scales got dangerously close to 200, but thanks to the diet they never tipped over it! By the time I made it home with Antonia I was down 3 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight and within a couple months I was down approximately 15 pounds from my pre-pregnancy and 35 pounds total! I attribute this to breastfeeding and SHEER exhaustion, but whatever works! I am still not happy with my body and I miss how proud I was of it when I was pregnant. I know I will never have a flat stomach, my one trouble area, but I wish it wouldn?t bulge in weird ways. I hate how even now with the weight loss nothing seems to fit right, one size up and they fall off, the current size and my fat starts to roll over the waistband of pants. I wish I didn?t care, I wish I didn?t walk around sucking my stomach in to be something I?m not, but unfortunately I do. Here are some pics?

BARELY showing, but loving every inch of it

The stretch marks popped up sometime around week 30? too bad they didn?t stay away the whole time.

I delivered two days later at 8:25 in the morning!

Here I am today? the stretch marks are still there and while my stomach may look great to some of you, I am ashamed of how it hangs. OR I WAS, this site has helped me to understand why it?s that way and even more importantly embrace it? as long as I have my little bean to look at, all the marks, fat and body issues are worth it. Can someone please just tell me how I can keep her from having these issues?

That?s what I meant about the bulge over the pants? I HATE IT!

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story… it has truly helped in a cleansing sort of way! Here’s me and my daughter

This is my belly: the one that housed Queen B, and dozens of packages of Double Stuf Oreos, and too many Costco crates of grapefruit to count over those 9 months. Queen B has been out for three years, the Oreos linger on. Someday, I?ll get those 20 pounds back off. Meanwhile, I?ll try to enjoy the curves, and? if lucky enough to get pregnant again? try to stay further away from the cookie aisle.

If you look carefully, right above my navel, you can see the scar from the belly-button ring that I took out when I got pregnant. I didn?t think stretching it out on a 9-month pregnant belly would be a good thing. Maybe someday, if I get my abs back, I?ll get it re-pierced. Probably not. Some things are just cuter on a 20-something. Regardless, the little scar will always be there, like a ghost of my grunge youth.

–Kate

I don’t have any before pix of my belly, or belly pix with my first. I became pregnant at 20 with my first, and had my 2nd at 24. They were both c-sections. I have always been heavy, but my belly looks a LOT different than before kids. I was about 180 before kids, and am about 220 now.

2nd baby, 6 weeks pregnant:

18 weeks:

29 weeks:

Almost 36 weeks, just a week before she was born:

Here I am at 19 months post-partum after 2 c-sections. My husband swears he loves my body, and his actions would agree with this, lol. I still have a hard time believing that he could find all this loose skin and flab to be beautiful, but I’m slowly accepting it myself. The trade off is worth it though because now I have 2 of the most beautiful children in the world, and I’d gladly do it over again!

Thank you for posting all these lovely pictures of loved mothers. My daughter is a treasure, and I love my body now more than I ever did, because I am so proud of it and all the hard work that belly did, and the work my breasts do now.

Here is me and my sister when I was 6 months pregnant:

Here is my belly and breasts 8 months post-partum:

and here is my body in the mirror, 8 months post partum:

love your site. My name is Bonnie and I have 3 wonderful Children. My daughter Stacey was born on 11/10/01 making her 4.5 yrs old. She was born at 40.4 weeks and weighted 9lbs 1oz. My Son Garrett was born on 8/19/03 making he just shy of 3 yrs old. He was born at 38.5 weeks and weighted 8lbs 6.5ozs. My last child a son name Patrick was born 2/22/06. He was born at 39.5 weeks and weighted 8lbs 13ozs. I gained 39 pounds with my first, 43 pounds with my first and 36 pounds with my last pregnancy. It took me a while to loss most of the weight after each pregnancy but some pounds still hung around. The weight gain don’t bother me as much as all the stretch marks did. I got enough my first pregnancy for 3 woman. You know its bad when you OB says wow you sure did get a lot of stretch marks. This did make me feel better because at least I knew it wasn’t just in my head. I got then with my first all over my belly, thighs, half way down my legs, breasts, back and butt. The ones that I hated the most were the ones on my thighs and legs. They were the most noticeable and were bright red till my daughter was about 1 yrs old. The finally faded just in time for me to get pregnant with by second. I didn’t get any new stretch marks with my second and with my third I got a couple of new ones on my belly. At that point I didn’t really care anymore. While these days I may not be getting into a mini skit its ok with me. I like to loss some weight but that will come in time. I loved bring pregnant for the most part and my kids were worth every stretch mark and pound gained.

I just found this site and spend an hour pouring over the images and stories. Wow.

I was once a lean, thin size 1. I wore tight jeans, bathing suits with no shame, and didn’t think twice about buying a half shirt. I think back to the bare bellied, pierced naval, wild one I once was and just shake my head.

With my first son I gained a lot of weight, a lot. After having him my stomach stayed full with the extra weight that I was still carrying. Two years later and I had my second son, and this time the weight just melted off afterwards. While I was excited to see the numbers on the scale moving back to where they once were (30lbs to go!) the effects on my stomach and thighs were devistating. Loose wrinkled skin, dark blotches and stretch marks, and a perminant dark line rolling down my abdomen meant that I was never going to have that body again. Never.

The moms on TV, the ones that are supposed to show me what to be don’t ahve stretch marks, or saggy skin, or lopsided breasts. I love my boys with every ounce of my being but the battle scars from having them have cut off a part of my past, and of who I was. It’s a tough battle, learning to love your body again after going through such enormous changes.

Pregnancy didn’t come easily for me. First there was the early miscarriage, the one that I didn’t know I was pregnant until it was lost. I was sad, but didn’t feel as though it really mattered. It was encouraging to know I could become pregnant. Then it just never seemed to stop bleeding. After a while, my popular and trendy, SoHo doctor seemed annoyed that I still called her. Finally she gave me a drug
that forced it to end. It did, but I never snapped back. You know when something isn’t right – discharge that was like water. Doctor’s dismissed it as signs of ovulation. No – I knew what that was like because I’d been watching for that special, stretchy goo monthly for four years. I knew I wasn’t ovulating.

Three doctors later I finally got an ultrasound. Then some dye and an X-ray with a doctor that couldn’t look me straight in the eye, “it appears your tubes are blocked and distended.” I’m expecting a remedy, like okay what’s next? How do I fix it? I felt empowered with information. But he cowered and muttered something about talking more with my doctor, maybe find a specialist. He scurried from the room as
I was left by myself to dress and leave. My husband wasn’t there. I wasn’t prepared for that kind of information. Alone in a cab, I could feel the dye leak from me as I returned home. I am fertile, but infertile. How could that be? I was only pregnant three months ago? I saw the sac, in the uterus.

I found my fertility specialist through the yellow pages because I was too scared to talk to my friends. I still couldn’t accept this was happening to me. At the time I was a practicing Mormon, and my new doctor was a lesbian who would eventually get me pregnant. I took great pleasure in that contrast. She was a wonderful person. It was
her detached statistics and medical terminology that saved me from over-indulging my emotions. I was an excellent candidate for In-Vitro because everything functioned but the tubes. I worked the process like my job – the needles, pills, schedules, bloodletting – the ultimate project for a project manager. On the first try, I had 24 eggs, of which 22 fertilized. I was a Goddess. Pregnancy would be delayed, the
tubes continued to leak and they had to go. My first scar.

As soon as I recovered, two embryos were implanted and one stayed. I gained 65 pounds during my pregnancy. Exactly one year (to the date) after she was conceived, my daughter was born 10 pounds, 10 ounces.

I wasn’t surprised that the weight didn’t come off easily because I had battled my weight all my life. Why should this be any easier? I didn’t mind because I was in heaven and I finally had boobs. I had a perfect little girl who breast fed with ease, slept through the night, and napped frequently. I returned to my pre-pregnancy weight about one-year later, a little soft in the belly, but just fine. In addition
to having a beautiful child, motherhood had brought me an ease with my body that I had fought hard to love all my life. I have no difficulties wearing a bathing suit, and while there are smaller clothes that I still yearn to wear, when I face myself alone in the mirror each morning, I am satisfied.

When my daughter turned two, I tried again, and again I got pregnant. Two-for-two. At three months I called my local doctor (now in Chicago) about some abdominal discomfort. I thought it was constipation from the extra iron supplements. She brushed me off. My husband left for work because I assured him I was fine. An hour later I passed out on the toilet with my frightened toddler beside me. I fought to regain consciousness as I heard her crying. I called my doctor, my husband,
and my specialist still in Brooklyn. It took an embryo to burst through the walls of my uterus before my local doctor would return my call – no she didn’t, someone else in her office did, after I had already checked into the emergency room. I knew the baby was lost, but I looked to my husband with my face of strength, “It’s all going to be fine. It’s just statistics. I’ll get pregnant again.” The next day the hospital sent me a grief psychologist to talk. About what? I was fine, really.

I didn’t get pregnant again. With each attempt, I grew more and more depressed. Each cycle I gained more weight that I couldn’t take off. With each negative result, I grew further away from my husband. Every challenge at parenting felt like a monumental failure. After four tries, I finally decided to stop. With that decision I gradually began to live again. I embrace motherhood with confidence. My one child
with my one husband has made me complete. This body, this shape of a mother, will never return to the firm, young figure that I so despised in my youth. It is soft, round, maternal. To me, to us, it is beautiful.

PS: One thing no one has ever told me, and still no one seems to talk about… my vagina has changed (I’ll spare you the photos). I didn’t notice it until after the 2nd miscarriage. I thought I had an infection as the insides appeared to be pushing out. “No,” my doctor told me, “that’s what it looks like after a vaginal birth.” Still? “Yes, probably forever.” Damn lucky my husband never said anything.

Oh, and a postscript to the story is that I have a whole stack of completed paperwork on my table, ready to send to the adoption agency.

–Dominique