They warned me before I got here.
“Babies ruin bodies.”
“Enjoy this now – you’ll never see it again after kids!”
“You’ll never be the same.”
I guess they were right. I am ruined. I don’t see it. I’m not the same.
It is my new reality. It is the body I see in the mirror each morning, much unlike the one I knew before.
And I am grateful.
A baby ruined my body. She ruined me for ordinary, for status quo, for shallow. She ruined me for who I was before.
There are changes I never expected, tiger stripes in places I didn’t know could stretch, hairs and darkened things and love handles and jeans that don’t fit the same as before.