Post-Preggo Body Nightmares
Just before sitting down to write this, my hubby and I were discussing my future body.
Really we were talking about my current body.
"Your boobs are enormous."
"Yeah, I was thinking that today. I'm really worried what they're gonna look like after children."
"Well, you're not gonna have your boobs out anyway, right? So just buy nice bras."
Ugh.
I hate this idea that once you have children you're going to turn into some repulsive troll who wears trash bags for clothes.
No thanks.
I told my husband this and his response was my boobs aren't going to matter in the grand scheme of things.
Life will be so fulfilling that things like how your boobs look will seem trivial.
Pfff.
I disagree. I very much enjoy looking good. I don't see a future where I don't try my best to pull myself together.
Sure, I won't be wearing skimpy outfits, because I never have, but I'll still want to look extra sexy now and then. And what about just being able to look in the mirror and feel happy? Doesn't that count for anything?
This shit sucks.
What do men have to deal with? Baldness? How does that compare to losing your body to a child? Is that question too dramatic?
I mean, your boobs grow then shrivel, hips grow and maybe never go back, skin stretches and gives you tiger stripes, tummy grows and sometimes doesn't return to its normal shape (stretched muscles, loose skin, etc).
I think of all this stuff and get worked up about it. There's nothing I can do apart from continuing to exercise, try to eat healthily, and lather my skin with all the oils under the sun.
But who knows how my body will handle this.
As it stands, my mom, sister, and father are all normal weight. Neither my mom nor my sister have stretch marks and both have given birth.
I, on the other hand, have been fat my whole life and have stretch marks all along my hips and the backs of my arms.
I don't want to say that I'm doomed, buuuuuut past experience would suggest this baby might wreck my body.
Gah, I hope not.
xo Jenea
- Everything is always okay in the end; and if it's not okay, then it's not the end.
Really we were talking about my current body.
"Your boobs are enormous."
"Yeah, I was thinking that today. I'm really worried what they're gonna look like after children."
"Well, you're not gonna have your boobs out anyway, right? So just buy nice bras."
Ugh.
I hate this idea that once you have children you're going to turn into some repulsive troll who wears trash bags for clothes.
No thanks.
I told my husband this and his response was my boobs aren't going to matter in the grand scheme of things.
Life will be so fulfilling that things like how your boobs look will seem trivial.
Pfff.
I disagree. I very much enjoy looking good. I don't see a future where I don't try my best to pull myself together.
Sure, I won't be wearing skimpy outfits, because I never have, but I'll still want to look extra sexy now and then. And what about just being able to look in the mirror and feel happy? Doesn't that count for anything?
This shit sucks.
What do men have to deal with? Baldness? How does that compare to losing your body to a child? Is that question too dramatic?
I mean, your boobs grow then shrivel, hips grow and maybe never go back, skin stretches and gives you tiger stripes, tummy grows and sometimes doesn't return to its normal shape (stretched muscles, loose skin, etc).
I think of all this stuff and get worked up about it. There's nothing I can do apart from continuing to exercise, try to eat healthily, and lather my skin with all the oils under the sun.
But who knows how my body will handle this.
As it stands, my mom, sister, and father are all normal weight. Neither my mom nor my sister have stretch marks and both have given birth.
I, on the other hand, have been fat my whole life and have stretch marks all along my hips and the backs of my arms.
I don't want to say that I'm doomed, buuuuuut past experience would suggest this baby might wreck my body.
Gah, I hope not.
xo Jenea
- Everything is always okay in the end; and if it's not okay, then it's not the end.
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