Congratulations, it’s a girl!
A little girl.
Throughout my relationship with her dad we had always discussed wanting a boy.
In my experience as an educator of young children I had found boys to be so much “easier”…
less drama and more mud.
Yes, please. Where do I sign up?!
I’ll never forget as we got back into the car, I asked him if he was disappointed.
His response was, “They make pink Red Sox gear.”
That was good enough for me. Or was it?
I remember the drive home like it was yesterday. The way my mind quickly shifted gears.
A little girl.
A long enough drive to let the reality of what I had just been told to sink in.
What came up next was so unexpected that I hardly knew how to grasp what I was feeling, let alone try to explain it to anyone.
Fear.
Utter fear.
How was I going to raise a little girl?
How could I possibly teach her what it means to love herSelf when I was, quite frankly, doing such a shitty job of it mySelf?!
In that moment years of self-loathing rushed back and practically knocked me off my feet.
The harsh reality of how I viewed mySelf was in my face, there was no avoiding it.
How could I teach her to have gratitude for all that she was when I had spent a lifetime wishing I was someone else, ANY-one else?!
How could I show her how to love her body when I had spent a lifetime hating my own?!
So I did what I do (or what I used to do) and I shoved it all back down inside and embraced the idea of a little girl.
Months later, weeks earlier than anticipated, I embraced a perfect little girl in my arms and fell deeply madly in love.
The kind of love that only a mother can know.
A fierce protective self-sacrificing love that would take over my entire being.
Per usual, the first few years I spent in autopilot with lots of coffee and burp cloths and dirty diapers.
Then something shifted.
She became very curious about her body.
As I started to teach her about the different parts of her body and what they were for, those feelings started to resurface.
She would knead my belly and tell me that she loved how soft it was.
She would squeeze my arms and say, “soft”.
Each time I would smile when inside I was cringing.
I didn’t want to be “soft”.
Then there was the day that she ran her tiny little fingers along the lines in my belly.
“What’s this from Mama?” she asked so innocently.
“Ah, those. Those are my tiger stripes. They’re marks that happened when you were in my belly and it stretched out so far that it had to create these marks in order for the skin to stretch as far as it needed.”
“I did that to you? I’m sorry.”, her little face looked so sad.
“Oh, noooooooo! Don’t you ever feel sorry for those marks. Those marks remind me of how amazing my body is. My body was able to create you, nourish and was your home for 9 months. Isn’t that amazing that we can grow people in our bellies?”
She nodded as a big smile stretched across her face.
“That’s one of the many beauties of being a woman Brea. And here’s the thing, not every woman is able to grow babies in their belly, but because women are such amazing selfless creatures there are women in the world who are willing to grow babies in their bellies for other people. And if that wasn’t enough, there are women out there who are so selfless that they want to give their babies the best possible life they can and sometimes that means letting someone else raise them.”
She informed me then that she would adopt her babies. She has zero interest in allowing a baby to exit her body in the way babies do. I told her that was ok too. She has choices.
We talked about how powerful and perfect our bodies are, just as they are.
After that conversation I knew it was time to walk my talk.
I wanted to learn to love my amazing body and all that it was capable of.
I wanted to be as healthy as possible to be around for her for a very long time.
Most of all, I wanted to stop wishing I was someone different.
I wanted to stop criticizing my body. I wanted to be completely in it and present.
Thus began a journey of self-discovery like no other.
I made up my mind to get serious about losing the extra pounds that prevented me from being active and agile.
I lost almost 100 pounds and was shocked at the transformation my body took. Not just my body, but my mind.
So often we treat our brains as though they are separate from our bodies, but one can’t exist without the other.
In my 30’s I felt better than I ever had in my 20’s.
Then life happened and grief took over.
During that process my body built back up layers. Layers that I now realize I put on to protect mySelf (that’s a blog for a different day).
This year I turned 40 and although my grief will never go away completely, it no longer feels like I’m walking around in a fog.
As the fog started to lift so have the layers.
But here’s the beauty…
I am now able to honor my body exactly where I’m at.
I no longer spend my time wishing away what I have.
Would I love to wake up and not have to lose the last 10lbs again?
Of course.
I swore I’d never be here again and here I am. Plugging away at the 10-15 pounds that feel like 100 some days.
However, and this is huge for me, I love every pound of flesh. I am embracing my perfectly imperfect self just as I am. Exactly as I want my daughter to embrace her amazingly beautiful body.
I love that I am soft.
My hands are soft as they hold the hand of a friend whose heart is aching.
My shoulders are soft as they provide a safe space to lean on.
My arms are soft as they embrace anyone who wants or needs a hug.
My eyes are soft as I hold eye contact while I’m truly listening.
My legs are soft as they provide a comfy space for tired little legs to rest.
My heart is soft as it has learned to love unconditionally, without judgment.
I am woman and I am soft.
Every perfectly imperfect piece of me.
Congratulations, it’s a girl!