To my mom bod,

I am so sorry for ever underestimating you. I never gave you the love that you have always shown me.

You endured back-to-back-to-back fitness classes and workouts on an empty stomach for years. You never retaliated when I skipped meals and still complained about the way you looked. You withstood the lies I told you about you being too fat, too flabby, too short, too hairy. You took all the abuse for years and when we were finally at a place of peaceful understanding, you (you fertile Myrtle) became fatter, flabbier, and hairier than I ever thought possible to be. Yet in this way, you graced me with such a forgiveness and set out to prove that every thing I claimed to hate about you would become something I adore.

You withstood 9 months of pregnancy, still active and strong, barely retching or swelling from the chaos of hormones you were experiencing. You kept my whole world safe and thriving and brought her to me without issue. You healed as if you were made of magic despite my mind struggling to carry the load of sleepless nights and postpartum anxiety. You made my sweet baby's first source of food, sustaining and comforting her through teething and milestones.

You tried, God love you, to grow another baby who got lost in your intricate labyrinths. There was no way you could have rescued or sustained its growth like you did with the first and you spared my life by letting it go. We both grieved but through this, I marveled at your resilience. What astounded me even more was that so shortly after our loss, you found a way to recover that lost joy by welcoming a new baby. You grew and nourished this one like the first. This time around, you retched and ached and swelled. This time around, I tried to maintain the grace and composure you've held all of these years and I accepted that maybe true strength is found only in enduring the things that try to weaken us.

When I awoke one morning to see the scars of growth and change where my hip bones used to protrude, I felt a strange sense of pride. You earned those stripes and while the world will try to convince us that they need to be erased, I can't help but want to keep them as a reminder of what we survived. I know there will be times when I want to listen to the world and change the things I've come to love- the wider hips, the softer shoulders, the stretch marks, and the extra skin and fat in my torso that keeps babies safe and warm. I can't promise that I will always be as kind to you as you've been to me but I will try. I will make an effort to choose you. I will give you the things that nourish you and make you feel strong again. And above all, I will never forget what you are capable of and I will be grateful of everything you have given me. You are amazing and I love you.