I hear a lot of mothers and even fathers talk about how having a baby has destroyed their or their spouse’s bodies. Before I became pregnant, someone told me not to have a child, because “babies ruin your body!” It has been more than a year since my son came into the world, and my body still carries proof of his existence. I have dark pools under my eyes, and a valley where my belly button once was. There are lines mapped across my skin, proving I once was too small to contain all of the love that filled me. Those lines on my skin are all I have left to prove that we were once one and not two. How can I be ashamed of that?
I have so much to say about seeing his eyes under the brows of my own. I see my ancestors and myself as a child every time he looks up at me. Not much makes me feel more beautiful than seeing tiny renditions of my features on my son and realizing how special they are. My body grew that. Not everyone gets to have that privilege.
Sure, my belly is a bit softer nowadays, but the way it moves when I jump up and down sends my son into fits of laughter. I’m not close to what I once was physically, but my perfect boy sees me for who I am. To him, I hang the moon. He knew my heart long before we met. And he loves me. My body made me a mother. If anything, I was “ruined” by the world before I knew him, and he made me whole again.
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