Postpartum

None of my jeans fit. This shouldn’t really be a surprise given I only gave birth a few weeks ago but still. My jeans don’t fit.

I have never enjoyed an easy relationship with my body but I loved being pregnant. I was very lucky to have a smooth and easy pregnancy and it felt like my body was finally doing what it was designed for. For the first time in my life, I truly felt at home in my own skin.

As my belly grew, stretch marks crept up my stomach like flames, burning a bright vibrant purple. I marvelled at the way the skin stretched and only felt sad once or twice that my stomach would never be smooth again. I wasn’t much for bikinis anyway; and even if I were, stretch marks were not something I would be embarrassed by. Even when I developed pelvic girdle pain in my last few weeks, I fully embraced my pregnant shape and felt a sense of wonder at my body.

The sense of wonder has not disappeared. Giving birth and seeing what the female body can do is awe-inspiring, breathtaking, and utterly primal. I have never felt more like a warrior than in that last hour or so of labour, when my body was convulsing and shuddering with the effort to deliver my son.

It’s been nearly nine weeks since that euphoric moment. My body continues to amaze me – I am literally keeping my son alive with just my boobs! How bonkers is that?! But the old negative thoughts have started to sneak in. My pregnant body was full and round. It was beautiful and purposeful and even when I was nearly 42 weeks pregnant and totally fed up, I felt sort of glorious.

My postpartum body is soft and baggy. My stomach – though it has never been toned – is an empty sack rippled with scars. My hips are padded in fat from all the cake / French toast / crumpets I probably ought to cut down on. My pelvis feels wider, my shoulders broader. My thighs are bigger. Even my calves have grown and I can hardly still put that down to the water retention that comes shortly after giving birth. I can only tolerate photos of my face taken from above – if I see myself in the mirror from the side, I hide from my double chin.

I guess I expected my body to snap back and it hasn’t. It’s changed shape completely. I still marvel at it but I also struggle to recognise the soft sagging belly that’s no longer home to my son. I feel a bit sad that my wardrobe is full of clothes that don’t fit. In my weakest moments, I’m embarrassed that I’m still wearing so many of my maternity clothes. I’m trying to be kind to myself and give my body the time and space to recover. I’m trying to tune out all the subliminal messaging that says I should be anything other than what I am right now: a new mum who’s doing her best.

I’m allowed to exercise now and I’ve been walking regularly and doing postnatal Pilates. It’s amazing how stretching and breathing can restore you mentally, eh? Taking my son swimming is one of the highlights of my week and I don’t even mind getting into a swimming costume. Turns out buying a swimsuit that’s roomier is whole lot comfier. Who knew!

There will come a time when I cut back on the cake, but December is no time for that. I may one day be a size 12 again, or I may not. I know that my husband is just happy and grateful that I’m taking care of our son. And I know my son will be happy as long as his mummy can provide lots of cuddles and plenty of milk.

I will strive to be healthy so I can keep up with him as he gets bigger. But it’s important too to make peace with how you’ve physically changed when you become a mum. For some people that will not be very much at all. For others, they will never look the same as they did before. Both are ok. The algorithms trying to sell you control pants on Instagram might try to tell you otherwise but no matter how you’ve changed, you’re doing brilliantly and you look fantastic. You grew a human, of course you look a bit different.

I think most of us will always have those little voices in our heads – the ones forged by years of exposure to industries that try to sell you on a very narrow definition if beauty – but I hope I can drown mine out soon. There are more important ways to measure your worth and we must be kind to ourselves. The emotional rollercoaster of motherhood is enough. You are enough.

My jeans don’t fit. I bought new ones. They’re a different shape. But I think I’m ok with it.