I’ve spoken on insecurities before. About how women tend to take the brunt of society’s expectations on physical appearance. How girls grow up learning that their bodies are supposed to be this way, or that way. It’s complete bullshit. We are all set up to fail.
We are surrounded by criticism. We are supposed to watch the scale but also, don’t be too skinny. Have big boobs, but don’t show too much. You need a nice big ass, but not too big. After all, we all can’t be a Kardashian. Having youthful skin is also a must, but “don’t be fake and get botox”. The contradictory guidelines that we, as a society put on girls/woman is a joke.
I was 22 when i had my first child. I was young, so the “bounce back” after having her just kinda happen. Without much effort i was back into my old jeans. Learning the ins and outs, and the do’s and dont’s of parenthood kept me focused on what mattered…my baby. Like i said, i wasn’t stressed about my post baby body, because honestly, it hadn’t changed much. Then came my second pregnancy. Shit changed quick.
I was 25 when my second daughter was born. Although I was still relatively “young”, things didn’t seem to go the same way this time with my body. She was footling breech, so not only did i end up with stretch marks this go round, but I also had a nice C-section scar to match. As you can imagine (if you haven’t experienced a C-section) my abdominal muscles were sliced through and no longer tightened the same. My breasts were milk machines and as she aged and nursed less, i saw them starting to deflate.
She was about 6 months old when I started to obsess over my new, unwelcome body. I hated it. Diets weren’t working fast enough, i had a baby and a toddler, so the gym wasn’t attainable for me , and there wasnt a bra on the market that I hadn’t tried (spoiler alert, none worked).
This was about the time i started running. I had never been a runner, and honestly i hated it. But all i could think about was getting this “baby weight” off. I ran miles and miles, sometimes pushing my body until I puked. But, no matter how much running i did, it wasnt enough, my stomach was still flabby and my tits saggy. I was getting more and more in my own head. I was determined to “fix” my mom bod. I just needed it to happen FAST. I needed a quick fix…I was getting a boob job.
First i needed to stop breastfeeding so that my breast would “dry out” enough to even have the surgery (judge me for being selfish, but know that mom shaming is lame). It took me two months to convince my husband, to come up with a way to pay for them, and find a surgeon. Mission accomplished, the ball was rolling and my surgery was BOOKED.
I will never forget the feeling, right before i went back for my surgery. I looked in the mirror at all the markings on my body that the surgeon had made and I said goodbye to my once youthful, but now distorted breasts. My husband looked at me and said “you don’t need to do this, you are beautiful just the way you are”. To which I replied, “you have to say that, but here we go!”, and i was wheeled back.