I have always had a love affair with antiques. There are few things more soothing to me than running my hands over well loved wood. While I certainly appreciate a sturdy, refinished piece the ones I really covet are scratched up, dinged and damaged. I love the smell that hits you when you open a long closed china cabinet or armoire. I have always thought that must be the scent of years and memories. Over the span of our marriage I have slowly filled our house with pieces that I have searched for and love. One of my favorites is a huge glass front armoire in my living room that I use to hold our family pictures. Last week I took out all the frames to oil the shelves and found myself smiling at one of the panes of glass that Oliver had broken. When he was just learning to walk he'd toddled over to it waving the remote control. The little stinker must have hit it in just the right spot and the pane cracked right down the middle. It never occurred to me to replace the broken piece. I'd much rather have a cracked piece of antique wavy glass than a perfect new piece. I love the character that the flaws give the armoire. I only wish that I could have this same attitude about myself.
I have always struggled with body image. I won't get into the boring details, but my history with self criticism is long. My darkest times have always occurred post partum and this time after the twins birth is no different. Every time I zip up my jeans, see my squishy belly, or try on clothes from before my pregnancy words like disgusting and undisciplined fly around my head. I purposely avoid mirrors and cringe whenever I see pictures of myself. I have tried dieting and adding exercise but my life is crazy and I'm a stress eater. I've researched plastic surgery and joined weight watchers, but neither one feels right to me.
Last night I was snuggling with Laurel and she buried her head in my belly and sighed happily. The motion of her head reminded me of how she felt when she was in my womb. My favorite part of every pregnancy has been feeling movements. I loved trying to guess body parts and with the twins I loved trying to guess which baby. I marveled at how my body stretched to house these tiny people. While I was snuggling I wondered why my attitude about my body changed as soon as I gave birth. Wasn't having a warm soft place for my baby on the
outside of my body just as wonderful?
I have decided that I'm going to change my thinking about my flaws. The scar that runs across my abdomen is all I have of Rhodes' birth (I had to be put under and missed the whole thing). Instead of cringing when I see it I'm going to be thankful that I have a physical reminder of a time I can't remember. My saggy belly held and protected FIVE babies. Instead of wishing it was flat I'm going to wish I could feel my babies move one more time. My body provided for and fed FIVE babies. Instead of researching breast lifts and implants I'm going to research becoming a lactation consultant.
I don't know if it's because I have a daughter now, but something has shifted inside me. It would break my heart if Laurel felt this way about herself. I want to be different. I want to be thankful. I want to show myself grace. I don't want to feel this way anymore.
