To my sweet baby,
Oh, if you only knew the nights and days I dreamt of how magnificent you’d be. How you’d grow into your marvelous self and thrive and be fully you, unapologetically. Every pregnant belly I’ve had, I’d grin as jabs protruded my skin and poking stole my attention; my imagination would run wild with adoration for you. One positive pregnancy test and I was smitten. Absolutely smitten, no matter what chaos swirled in our family or that the timing wasn’t ideal, you were coming and that became an overriding joy in all I did.
But with my joy, there always came a sting. You see, your mom has struggled with a lot of things in her life, but one thing has hung over her for too long – body insecurities.
I have teetered between morbidly obese and overweight (two pounds from a normal BMI) since I was six. I remember the first horrifically negative comment that made me question myself and my size … and I remember many more after.
These childhood comments started to shake my being and I no longer felt lovable. I felt unworthy and like I didn’t belong. I was embarassed. Ashamed. Humiliated. And somewhere in the messy thoughts circling in my brain, I decided I didn’t have the right or a voice to combat it. I didn’t belong and disgustingly fat became my identity.
I spent many years with doctors and dieticians, quick fix diets and drawn-out programs in hopes to find a “normal” body. From elementary school and well into my college years, my weight fluctuated in almost alarming ways. Good days were only if I was lucky enough to feel skinny, bad days were every other day. Clearly, my issues were deeper than anything a diet could fix.
I finally met your dad and I still struggled, but he brought some peace to my caged mentality. At my heaviest, he fell in love with me.
Your daddy never saw my weight. He saw the control and torment it had over me, but his love never hinged on such a thing. He saw something I didn’t know I possessed, and I never saw it because I was so preoccupied with my own outer shell. Your dad showed me I was lovable already, just as I was. He was (and continues to be) Christ to me.
It’s from this place of my war within that I wanted to write this.
Child, I struggled carrying you.
While other mothers have ridiculous nauseousness or other major physical ailments while pregnant, I fought my old battles of “being disgustingly fat.” I’d have days that my gratitude and happiness were so abundant that I was flying high, but more days than not I struggled.
You see, much of our society loves to focus on the size and shape of a body versus what that body is actually doing. Conversation between women, pregnant or not, are hyper-focused on weight. Some applaud a woman for little or no pregnancy pounds. Some gawk at the mom that “got her body back” in months (and some even weeks) after delivery. Some jabber about “cute pregnant women,” insinuating some of us are not-so-cute pregnant women. I don’t have to give you much time to guess if any of those statements applied appropriately to me.
I was a big mama when carrying you. Most people never commented, but some felt at liberty, and some often did with a twinkle in their eye (assuming you were to be a huge baby or triplets). They spoke totally not knowing the dagger they were thrusting at my already fragile self-esteem.
It wasn’t until a long drive home one day that I pondered these thoughts at a deeper level. The radio was off, your siblings had fallen asleep in the car and I was just left with the silence. Whether it was God’s whisper to direct my chaotic mind or a bunch of crazy turns bringing me there, a very brave thought popped in my head.
Carrying you proudly in utero was the most selfless and loving thing I could give you in that moment.
We talk a lot about postpartum moms after they have their baby and the sacrifices that she must now learn and adjust to. But what about the body-shamed mama of just carrying the baby inside? What about the mom that worked hard to lose those 120+ pounds earlier in her life, only to be told to eat a little more and gain weight for the health of that sweet child? I mean, in her mind, what if gaining that weight never stops?
Can you imagine the mind games? Can you even dare go there and guess what war wages in that mom’s brain?
I can, my dear one, because that was me. And honey, that was for you. I did that for you. With many sobbing days and attempts to close my ears to the comments (whether those were my internal words or comments from others).
It seemed the more I told myself (and sometimes others) that my size and weight didn’t matter (but just that YOU WERE THRIVING), people still felt a need to comment on how huge we were. It was hard. Baby, it was harder than hard for me. Give me the barfing any day over my mind games.
I know these baby-making years will be gone before I know it. I’ll be able to get my weight back to somewhat healthy and perhaps even maintain it for longer than a year or two, but I don’t want to forget these hard days. I don’t want to forget them because I know someone else out there will feel this way someday (maybe even one of my babies). And that someone will NEED another mama to say, “Hey, I get you! And you’re not alone.”
You could even add, “Wow, your body is amazing! Look at what it’s doing! You’re making a whole NEW human being. You are making the next generation in your belly and it’s spectacular to witness.”
Be a voice contrary to society’s natural rhetoric, dear child. Dare to speak LIFE to those fragile souls, those poor mama souls like your mom. Remind them what a gift it is to give life to a new creation that God Himself knit together.
And don’t forget, Satan yearns to steal the beauty from such a breathtaking miracle. Don’t let him. He’ll make the world belittle the process, too. He wants only to steal, kill, and destroy ANYTHING that is this good, this amazing, this miraculous.
Remember just as babies are applauded for coming out in all shapes and sizes, so should the women that bear them into the world. One does not deserve love and applause over another. And really, that applies to absolutely every human situation.
Society does not have the right to have that much say over you or your significance. Only God has that power. And my child, He is soooo pleased over you. You are His beautiful and precious creation. He is more smitten over you than I have ever been (so that’s a pretty outrageous amount) and long before I ever knew you’d exist.
So before I close, let me reiterate, my sweet one: as hard as it was for me to carry you in my womb, you were worth it. Every single teary day, every single pound and roll and war within – you. were. SOOOO. worth it.
I love you, precious child. Thank you for letting me be your mom, flaws and all.
Love, your Mama
Rediscovering Simplicity 