My body has been both my friend, my enemy, and somewhere in between. My mind and body are usually at some sort of tense stalemate, like roommates bound by a lease agreement but not much else. I’m proud of and grateful for how my body grew and nourished two (going on three) babies, and while I have never been an athlete, my body has kept me steadily moving throughout my thirty-five years without much complaint. I’ve had my seasons of loathing certain body parts or wishing other parts were smaller, bigger, leaner, or fuller.
Fashion and movement have always felt like my go-to methods of managing body insecurity. I was a devotee of TLC’s What Not To Wear for years, even before Clinton Kelly was cast as a co-star. I love the challenge of creating an outfit or the discovery of a gorgeous statement piece. I’ll try most physical activities at least once. I’ve been a YMCA member, an Orangetheory enthusiast, a Peloton rider, a Zumba booty shaker, a couch-to-5k runner, and a yogi. The endorphins of physical activity, preferably in the fresh air, are transformative and life-giving.
So here are I am now: thirty-five, wrangling two little ones, and five months pregnant with my bonus baby. I’m much bigger in this pregnancy than the previous ones, thanks to an overachieving uterus, stretched out ligaments, and gravity. I had gotten rid of all my maternity clothes after Josie was born, so I’ve been trying to make do with a minimalist wardrobe of cheap Amazon leggings and those shirts with elastic seams. Nearly all physical activity exhausts me or makes me ache, so I’m now the proud owner of a stretchy velcro band that I get to wear under my stretchy maternity shirts when I’m doing anything active. Oh and did I mention the compression socks? Those go all the way up to my knees. They aren’t quite the statement piece I’d choose under normal circumstances.
Pregnancy can really do a number on your mind. On one hand, your body is doing truly amazing things and you’re in awe, gleefully comparing the size of your unborn child to various produce at Kroger. On the other hand, your body is now a foreign country with unsuspecting digestive or energy issues popping up like landmines, all while it swells in size. And don’t get me started on the hurricane of hormones…
So it’s only natural that even the most grateful of moms struggle mightily with body image during pregnancy.
Last week I spontaneously ordered two flowy maxi dresses from Target, based solely on an influencer’s post. I don’t usually let the ‘gram connect with my spending habits, but c’mon, it’s Target! I tried them on and looked in the mirror. I looked…enormous. The first dress was a gorgeous violet and all I could think was: mountain. I look like a mountain. Purple mountain’s majesty? Ain’t nothin’ majestic to see here. I tried on the second one, blue with thin white stripes. Less mountain but more circus tent-like for sure. Ugh. Was there no way to dress my body in a way that made me feel good?
I video-called one of my best friends who is both compassionate and incredibly wise about clothing. Of course, I did this fifteen minutes before the girls’ bedtimes, so they were running around like maniacs. I put on the blue dress and handed the phone to my husband so my friend could get a full view of the human mountain I had become (but it had pockets!).
Before my friend could respond, Lucy gasped and said with the widest of eyes,
“MAMA! You look BEAUTIFUL!”
My husband caught my eye and held my gaze, saying silently, “See?”
I continued my video call with my friend, but I kept hearing my daughter’s reaction over and over in my head. Ultimately we decided I would return the purple dress, but keep the blue one in the name of comfort and versatility, and remembering that this is just one season of my life. After I said goodbye to my friend and changed into pajamas, Justin was putting Josie to bed and Lucy had disappeared. I ventured downstairs to look for her and found her furiously coloring at the kitchen table. “Mama! I drew you in your fancy dress!”
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
My daughter thinks I’m beautiful. My husband thinks I’m beautiful (I think? Ha) It’s okay that there are days I don’t feel beautiful, but as my friend gently reminded me, this is just one season of my life. Pregnancy (and even post-partum) doesn’t last forever. And sometimes it’s enough to know that I’m beautiful in someone else’s eyes, when my own eyes can’t see it.
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