My pregnant body and I haven’t always been on the best of terms. In fact, during my first trimester, I legitimately thought it was trying to kill me. Between it trolling me with morning sickness that lasted day and night, to aches and pains in body parts that I didn’t even know existed, the only logical conclusion was that my body had it out for me.
As the months progressed, though, I realized that my pregnant body was doing everything it could to take care of me and my tiny little seed. I was hardheaded, so it had to work harder to get through to me. Emergency room visits for fluids because this stubborn mama wasn’t drinking enough water. Eventually it clicked that…”hey, I need to drink more water.”
Then there was the fainting spells because I was overdoing the sugar.
The itchy skin because my showers were too hot, and it wasn’t good for baby.
The constipation because I needed more fiber in my life.
The huge belly providing a space for my boy to grow and move.
The swollen feet because my butt needed to sit down and CHILL.
My pregnant body was just doing its job.
I started to make the connection between my changing body and the work that it was doing. The pronounced veins in my chest and arms that looked like a series of blue train tracks beneath my skin was carrying actual life to my son and keeping us both moving.
My breasts, achy and sore because they are preparing for the most important task of all—providing nutrients to my baby boy (and, keeping it real, helping my husband save money on formula!).
Yeah, this body took care of me.
As I head out in a few minutes to give birth for the second time, I’m making a vow to remember to honor this body, even postpartum. Months from now when I’m cursing my belly and the 35 pounds I’ve gained over the last 9 months, I promise to stop and thank this body for all that its done for me.
To show it grace.
To show it love.
The same way that it has shown love and grace to me.