truth and beauty.

six months pregnant

"My body will never be the same," I groaned to my sister over the telephone, "No matter how much weight I loose!"

And it's true. I wasn't born with one of those elastic bodies that bounce back into shape after pregnancy. In fact, with each pregnancy my body finds new ways of surprising me.

With my first pregnancy I became acquainted with stretchmarks. Every night I lathered my stomach in various creams, lotions, and snake oils, with the hope that my belly would remain unblemished. But all of my rubbing and wishing went in vain. There was nothing I could do to stop it. It was in my DNA. I was born to have stretchmarks.

Then, after my second pregnancy, I discovered that my lower abdomen had lost its elasticity. A strange pooch rested below my belly button, just above my scar. Crunches and sit-ups were useless. It was as though the skin was no longer attached to the muscle. I chalked it up to another weird side effect from my cesarean. After all, the pouch of skin was dead. No feeling. Numb. So, I shrugged my shoulders and moved on.

Until recently that is.

You see, living in Singapore means being surrounded by thin, tiny women and thin and tiny I am not. I tried lying to myself at first, pretending it didn't bother me. But, after a while, my mind fed into the idea that I wasn't normal. I was different and different was bad.

Over the next few months I became increasingly self conscious about my figure and it's changes since pregnancy. When I looked in the mirror I focused on my imperfections. I'd lay in bed at night obsessing over what new "surprise" this pregnancy would bestow upon my body and I began to see the entire process as a curse.

To add insult to injury, my helper recently asked me how far along I was.

"I'm six months." I responded, touching my stomach.

"You don't look 6 months pregnant!" She exclaimed. "You just look... fat."

My self-esteem hit rock bottom. I tried hiding my hurt behind a confident smile, but on the inside I felt ashamed and my burgeoning belly was only making matters worse.

But then I saw something that transformed my resentment into respect.

While flipping through the September issue of Glamour magazine, I came across this article and more importantly, this photo. The article was titled, "What Everyone But You Sees About Your Body." I sat and stared at the photo for a while. It was different than the other pictures in the magazine. It was a real image of a woman. Untouched and unedited.

All of a sudden I didn't feel so different. There, in the middle of a beauty magazine, was a woman who looked like me. Imperfect. Belly pooch and all. While studying the photo I noticed how happy she looked. Confident and beautiful. She was soft and curvy, but also healthy and strong. In my eyes, she was perfect.

For the remainder of the day my mind frequently wandered back to the photo and as it did the layers of insecurities and shame fell away. I began to see my body differently. Healthy, womanly, and feminine. I began seeing pregnancy as a miracle and a blessing again. My body was providing a safe and nurturing environment for my baby and a little extra padding wasn't such a bad thing.

I know my body isn't perfect, but that's okay. My imperfections only make me human. Besides, what do these imperfections really say about me anyway?

They say I'm a woman. My softness and curves were designed to nurture and comfort the ones I love. I shouldn't resent them, I should embrace them.

And my stretchmarks and tummy pooch? They say I'm a mother. A reminder that my body created life with the Creator himself.

And there is no shame in that.

Only truth and beauty.