“Are you pregnant?” this question use to bring me so much joy. I would respond, “yes” proceeded by, “I’m having a boy…five months…this is my first…this is my second.” Lately, however the answer to that question is a lot more simple but the emotions that come with it are a lot more complex. “No, I am not pregnant…no, seriously, I am not pregnant. I have a one year old and a four year old but I am not currently pregnant.” I accept their apologies, usually respond with some self-loathing type comment to lighten the mood but afterwards there are always a flurry of thoughts that run through my head- an internal debate that consequently alters my mood. Ironically, I tend to get mistaken as a pregnant women in times when I have been working out or training which really adds insult to injury.
No joke, it got so bad at one point that I started wondering if I was in fact pregnant even though I was on some pretty dependable birth control. Could I be the .1% that it doesn’t work for? Well I’m done tormenting myself about how every single celebrity mom with the exception of a few look nothing like me. I’m done waiting for my stomach to slim down like it did after my first child and for my belly button to go back in- I’m sporting an outie now. I’m done feeling guilty about eating take out because I am too exhausted to cook after working all day every day. I am ready to say to society, “it’s you, not me.” The moment I made this decision was the moment I started down my path to liberation. I’m far from my destination of loving my body, flaws and all but I definitely torment myself less.