The shape of a life

It's the way the dress hugs my belly.

I rip it off faster than is necessary.

I knew when I bought it that this would happen.

Every few weeks I try it on anyway.

"Not today," I tell the dress as I fold it back onto the bench.

I am 4-7 months out from having breast reconstruction that will move the skin from my belly to my chest. 

If everything goes as planned, it'll leave me with a flat stomach for the first time in my life. 

I have always had a little belly pooch. 

For most of my life I have been able to hide it in a pair of high wasted jeans. 

And honestly think that it’s a cute little something that’s different from the thin frames of the magazine ads that I will just never look like. 

But, a form fitting soft dress always leaves me feeling a little more like a lumpy potato than I would like, especially on a Tuesday morning before 6 AM. 

So I take the dress off and set it on my bench and say, “not today” one more time. 

I don’t know why I do this to myself. 

I know that I am not going to like the way I look when I put the dress on, and yet I still try. 

I could order a pair or spanx or the like to make everything look just so, but I don’t want to. 

I want to be able to walk around in my own skin in a form fitting dress and not think about the lumps and bumps of my saggy skin showing through. 

They are there from years and years of being pregnant. 

That is not an exaggeration. 

When I add up all the times I have carried babies in my body, the total time comes out to four and a half years, give or take a few days. 

I’ve earned these lumps and bumps with a zeal that isn’t easily matched. 

People always ask me when they hear that I have carried seven babies, “do you just love being pregnant?” 

They look at me like I have five heads or six eyeballs. 

And they have an answer in their mind before I have even answered that is the opposite of what I say. 

“No, I didn’t love being pregnant”. 

And that’s the truth. 

Pregnancy is hard. 

It takes a toll on your body and doesn’t feel good. 

For months on end you carry the literal weight of another human growing inside you. 

But it is a different kind of magic than anything else I have ever experienced in this life and a gift that I am grateful to have shared. 

My body knew how to make babies well. 

The pregnancies were nearly text book each time. 

Almost no complications. 

And I don’t take that for granted or boast when I say that. 

I say it so that you better understand why I chose to carry babies for other families three different times. 

I did it because giving a gift that can never be repaid is something that everyone should get to experience at some point in their lives. 

It’s a magic that left me feeling deeply human. 

And deeply whole in my body. 

It’s also a decision that changed who I am. 

Not just mentally and emotionally, but physically. 

It left me with stretch marks and scars that I get to bear witness to every day. 

Most days I pay them no mind. 

And some days they weigh a little heavier on me. 

Today they got to me because I wanted to wear a dress.

Tomorrow they probably won't even register.

Bodies have seasons.

Some days I notice every scar.

Some days I don't notice them at all.

Neither day changes what this body has done for me.

And maybe that's enough.