Body Image

I miss my "before kids" body. Not that it was perfect in any way, shape or form, but I miss it nonetheless. It's hard to believe that there was a time in my life when I didn't have stretch marks that ran from my hips to my boobs, or that there was a time I didn't see my body as a failure for not being able to protect my pregnancies. Before trying to conceive, I had spent most of my late teens to adult life trying not to get pregnant. I never imagined in a million years that having children would become an issue for me. Not that I couldn't get pregnant, but that I couldn't stay pregnant, my own body attacking my babies as "foreign invaders." Before my diagnosis of antiphospholipid antibody syndrome, before my first five pregnancy losses, there were unjaded feelings of ambivilance towards my body. I didn't love it, I didn't hate it. Sure there were things I felt weren't good enough, like the fact that although I come from a family of large breasted women, I could barely fill a B-cup or that I have a chronically large behind, but I was generally ok with the way I looked. There were days I actually felt beautiful, like the day I married Shane, or times we would go out and strange men would tell me I was hot...

Post pregnancy loss, post having birthed three babies, I definitely don't feel hot anymore. My barely B-cups have sagged and my belly looks like someone has parked their angry shar-pei on it. I detest the wrinkles and sags and stretch marks and extra pounds, it's like my body is showing off how I feel on the inside, ugly. I am so torn between a small feeling of pride that I managed to keep the twins inside for 37 weeks, that my babies were both a good size, and the feeling of epic failure as a mother for not putting Calvin's little heart together properly when he was growing inside me. There are days when I am desperately unhappy with the end result of my struggle to have children, that my body is speaking loud and clear all the pain, loss and unhappiness I feel inside. I consider drastic measures like plastic surgery, liposuction, breast implants, botox...But somehow I don't think my feeling of ugliness will go away, even with all that. I need to find measure of acceptance, of peace, with what has happened on my road to becoming a mother. I need to desperately find a way to stop feeling like such a failure. I didn't mean to lose all those babies, I didn't mean for Calvin's heart to be so messed up, but I can't help but feel that I caused it. I hope he can forgive me, because I'm having trouble forgiving myself.