By Danielle Gambino
To my husband, after I’ve had babies,
Can you remember the time we took that vacation. To a tropical island. We joked and laughed and drank fruity frozen cocktails. I wore a bikini and we had sex in the middle of the afternoon. It seems like forever ago. Before my stretch marks and C-section scar. Before I worried all the time about whether or not our babies ate enough vegetables and if they were going to sleep through the night. I can almost remember the confidence I had. Just yanking off my pool dress. Tossing it on the chair like I never needed it.
I cling to that pool dress now. Like my life depends on it, I cling to that dress. Just like I cling to the memories of that vacation. Of how I felt so free and comfortable in my own skin. My skin feels different now. Almost unrecognizable. Like I am stuck in someone else’s body. Someone whose body is out of control. Mood swings. Loose skin Hot, then cold, no hot. Very, very hot. Stretch marks. Whose body am I wearing? Why are they so hormonal? Where is my fruity cocktail???
I didn’t expect these changes. Honestly. I thought I would bounce back. I was young!
I was supposed to give birth and hit the beach the next month. I wasn’t supposed to look like this. Or feel like this. I was supposed to look like I was 24 again. The same girl who you dated for years before we got pregnant. The girl who never cared if we left the lights on. That girl never came back. She took my confidence. She ran with my flat stomach. She took all the good parts of me and now she’s gone.
And so I cringe. I cringe sometimes when you try to touch me. When you walk into the bathroom after I shower I panic. Don’t look. Don’t see me like this. I feel so different now. So shy and unsure of myself.
I see all those confident moms proud of their “stripes” and of how they look post-partum, but I feel embarrassed. I feel uncomfortable in the body that I was left with. After the two pregnancies. After waking up three times a night for months at a time. Each time eating a cookie on the way to the nursery because it made me feel better. And I deserved to at least feel a little better if I was missing out on all that sleep.
I was left with a body that won’t fit in any of my designer jeans. Jeans that now crowd the corner of my closet. Jeans that I won’t give away because I still have faith in myself. I still pray that the old me comes back. Maybe I’ll wake up one day and see her in the mirror. With her wrinkle-free forehead and perky boobs.