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Mommy, It’s Your Turn

It's my turn...but somehow I can't get over my body. Does he notice?

I’m playing the game Sorry with my son.

We play every morning while his older sister does her schooling for the day.

Today is different, It’s hot in Michigan and I’m in shorts for the first time this year.

It’s his turn, he makes his move and I sit here, staring at my thighs. “Mommy, Mommy it’s your turn.”

I’m distracted…

All I see is my thighs
My stretch marks
My cellulite
My bumps
My ghostly white skin

“Mommy!!!! It’s your turn.”

“Ah sorry buddy, yes.” I take my turn, and then….I return to my thighs.

They are softer now, they’re bigger than they were last year. All I see is thighs. All I see is more. I’m lost in negative thoughts.

He takes his turn and it happens again: “Mommy mommy!!!! It’s your turn!!!!”

I cannot let go, I cannot distract myself. I cannot see anything else. They’re right there. The stretch marks. Shining in the light, clear as day.

I think to myself, does he even notice? Does he see them too? Does he see what I’m sitting here literally a big ball of anxiety over? Does he think less of me because of these stretch marks? Am I still worthy of his love?

I take my turn… my eyes full of tears because I feel so small in this bigger body.

He looks at me and I know what he’s going to say. It’s my turn, I again am lost in this dysmorphia. And then.

With a big smile on his face he says…“I love you mommy, I love playing Sorry with you, you’re the best mommy ever.”

And the tears fall. But not because of my thighs. Not my weight gain, my bumps, my cellulite, my stripes. I cried because they’re all there mostly because of him, and his siblings. Would I have been happier without all of these new changes within myself and not have had him? Or his sisters?

Never. NEVER. I’d cover my whole body in stretch marks if that’s what it took to have them.

I took a deep breathe and took my turn. I smiled back at him. “I love you too my sweet boy, thank you.”

He smiles so big, so genuine. So happy. He doesn’t care what my thighs look like. Why would he? Honestly, He doesn’t even know that there’s such thing as “ugly thighs”. I literally remind my children every single day that all bodies are beautiful as they are, and as they grow and change.

Bodies grow and change. And so does mine. So does mine.

I look down at my thighs glowing in the sun, I thanked my body for giving me these lives, for getting me here. To this very moment. I look at him, and we finish our game together. I didn’t look at my thighs again. I didn’t need to.

I may not feel as comfortable in my body as I once have. Or maybe I never have. But regardless, if I can’t love my body for what it is, yet…I can love it for what it’s brought me, until I do.

Stretch marks or not. Cellulite or not.

I am worthy. I am a good mom, and I am freaking awesome.

This post originally appeared on Facebook. It has been reprinted with permission.

Britney Longarzo is the mama of 3 kiddos, a birth doula, and can usually be found wrapped in a cozy robe (even in the summer). Britney writes about all things #momlife on her blog, Birth Boobs and Babies. She has also been featured on Her View From Home, Scary Mommy and Pregnant Chicken. You can follow her on Facebook and on her website Birth, Boobs and Babies.

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