An Open Letter to My Postpartum Body

Dear Body,

I went through your clothes today. I mustered all of my courage, and took the Rubbermaid container out of the back of my closet. You know, THE Rubbermaid container–the one with the “skinny” clothes. The container with your beautiful tailored slacks and work-appropriate button downs. The one with the dress that used to make you feel like a supermodel, but now makes you feel like a sausage coming out of its casing (you know the one). The one with the dress you wore to your wedding reception, with the green lace and black silk lining that you loved so much. You and I, we understand each other. You and I, we love clothes.

Or, at least we used to.

We used to love clothes, until clothing became difficult. We used to love clothes, until the tumor secreted too much of that special hormone and we began to gain weight for no reason at all. Or until we took that antidepressant that got us to work in the morning, but made us gain 25 pounds and gave us stretch marks under our arms. Or until life happened because frankly, it’s hard to hold a desk job, be married, and still find time for yourself. Since then, it’s been extra large shirts because anything that showed your figure made you feel enormous. Since then, its been a constant battle between trying on things too small and purchasing items too large.

Enough is enough.

You may not be the same right now; in fact I have a sneaking suspicion that you will not be the same, ever. And that’s OK. I hereby release you from any preconceived notions of what you are supposed to look like. I promise, from now on, to appreciate and enjoy you. I promise to love and take care of you.

I’m not saying that I will glorify your stretch marks or the funny way you hang under my dress. I’m just saying that I will let you be. I will leave you alone. Over a month ago, you did something pretty amazing. So there; you’ve earned it. You’ve earned the right to be left alone. I will no long poke and prod, stretch, complain about, or criticize you (or, at least I promise to try). I’ve decided that I am going to be nice to you, because I want Zoe to be nice to herself. She will be too amazing to be worried about frivolous things, like whether or not her thighs touch or the number sewn onto her jeans. Zoe is going to change the world. I know it all starts with you and me.

I promise to fill you with good things. I promise to provide you with what you need to get through the day. I promise to keep you in shape, so I can run and play with my daughter. I promise to dress you in fabrics that make you feel good, because you deserve the best. I promise to protect you and keep you safe, because if you’re not working, I know we won’t be able to be all we want to be.

In closing, I want to thank you. We have been through a lot together. We have both failed the other. Even so, I want you to know that I’m grateful for you, and I am thankful for the beautiful thing you made.

Love,

Sarah E.B. Christison

Still a Little Chunky

But I Don’t Care Anymore