This is my fourth pregnancy, third delivery and I have never felt so foreign in my own body as I have this time around.
Writing is cathartic for me. My personal way of making sense of my feelings and recording my perspective...
Below are thoughts I wrote while two weeks postpartum.
Her belly is soft.
It spills over her jeans like smooth kneaded dough that’s spent too much time rising.
As she looks in the mirror and runs her hands over her soft and stretched stomach lined with purple streaks, she makes a conscious mental effort to thank it and praise it for it’s good work. After all, two weeks ago this soft bulge (that still looks very much like a pregnant belly) created and carried life... She hates that she has to remind herself.
She caresses the soft empty womb.
“Is this really me?” She thinks.
She looks down at her form defeatedly, “I do not recognize this woman.”
As if in response, her reflection 'the woman' in the mirror sighs deeply, looks her in the eyes and gives a soft reassuring smile.
The smile from the woman in the mirror is gentle, warm, and envelopes her completely. It feels like a much needed hug on the inside.
She closes her eyes and welcomes the feeling.
At that moment, the small cry of an infant coos from the hall. Her body, all of her senses respond. Her child needs her.
She heads for the door, but before leaving, she gives one final glance to said "unrecognizable" woman in the mirror.
“You are doing great.” she says.
She stands taller, “And no matter what, you are always beautiful.”
She walks away, reaches for her child and imagines her reflection lingering and smiling proudly as if to say…
“I’ve never recognized this woman more.”