Coming to terms with what happens to your body after baby can be one huge ass pill to swallow. And one that definitely NO ONE tells you about. At least, if they had, I didn’t pay a damn bit of attention because duh – I was too busy getting hammered and telling myself I was over the idea of kids. Who needs those snot-nosed little shits anyway, right? (And other bullshit we say before we know any better, but that’s another piece all together.)

Yes, when I became pregnant with London I was blissfully unaware of the havoc he was about to wreck on almost every square inch of my body. The first few months were heavenly, morning sickness aside. I was still the same ol’ little me just with a bump, that’s it. I still felt good. Towards the end however, a whole different ball game. I was completely unprepared for how much these changes would catch me off guard. Physically and emotionally. Living in a strange body that continually gets stranger can really take a toll on a gal. Fat thighs, fat ass, fat pudi? Yes, your read that right. Your lady bits get fat too! Who freaking knew? Sure as hell not me.

I recall so vividly the first stretch mark I found. Right across my right ass cheek. Big and bold. It nearly tore me to pieces. I know that sounds incredibly vain but it was all due to the state of mind I was in. I had refused to believe that was going to happen to me. I had always been very body confident and didn’t know any other way. My mom had gained 90 pounds with me and not a stretch mark one! I thought I was golden street, for sure. But no, here came the ass mark anyway. And put me right in my damn place. “So, Miss Love Your Body, see if you can love this!” (Followed by an evil laugh.) What a bitch.

Eventually, I came to terms ¬†with my ass mark. It was the only one I was going to get right? Wrong. Three short weeks before London came he changed positions, which felt like he was nearly going to rip my stomach in half. The result? Stretch marks. All over the center of my tummy. So. Sad. I’d almost made it.

The cherry on top was having endured my entire labor, complete and pushing, without an ounce of pain medication, only to end up with an emergency c-section and one more scar to add to the bunch.

Needless to say, traumatized.

The shape I took once this was all said and done was that of a soldier gone to war. I hardly recognized myself. The tits that I swore would remain the same, different. My stomach, different. My ass, different. My mind, so. different. How would I ever come to accept this new body? What in the hell just happened to me?

I made a human being. A tiny perfect little creature. That is what the hell just happened. And all of the ‘different’, absolutely worth it to look down and see his most precious little face. A face that I had a hand in creating. Incredible.

Slowly, over time, the stretch marks faded. Almost unnoticeable. My shape returned mostly back to it’s pre-baby ways. I even weigh less now than I did when I got pregnant. (Only because Moms don’t really eat but whatever.) And slowly but surely I am learning to love this new version of myself. In all of it’s strength, power, and birthing badass-ness.

One day, and soon, I know I will be proud of this body. The body that housed and built my little London.