I Don't Remember
In my determination to write more (and subsequently stay sane) I have joined author Ann Dee Ellis in a memoir writing group.
3 days a week she gives prompts and then for eight minutes we write.
Please feel free to join in! Here's my eight minute attempt today:
I don't remember what it was like to have a flat belly. I had one once (I think). It wasn't flat like a board or a piece of paper. I don't think there's anything in my DNA that directs my physical disposition to be flat. Nothing on me doesn't have some curve. But for most of my life I've had a belly that perhaps pouched in some female way but not much.
Four babies (and one miscarried 14 week pregnancy) sculptured my stomach so that my carrying days are forever molded on my maternal shape. I wonder how many people I meet consider that I might be pregnant, though no one has asked me, but perhaps that's because the human race has learned some manners.
Who knows.
The mission becomes acceptance. This is where I am at. Trainer, body therapist and dietician all reassure that this is the new me. Unless I want to dedicate my life to defeating stomach extension or pay a lot of money for a tummy tuck. I don't have the time and I don't have the money. This is the new me. And this will likely be my daughter's bodies too, so it's up to me to change the narrative.
Bellies are beautiful.
Bellies are beautiful.
Stained with stretch marks, rounded with life.
Bellies are beautiful.
I don't remember what it was like to have a flat belly. I had one once (I think). It wasn't flat like a board or a piece of paper. I don't think there's anything in my DNA that directs my physical disposition to be flat. Nothing on me doesn't have some curve. But for most of my life I've had a belly that perhaps pouched in some female way but not much.
Four babies (and one miscarried 14 week pregnancy) sculptured my stomach so that my carrying days are forever molded on my maternal shape. I wonder how many people I meet consider that I might be pregnant, though no one has asked me, but perhaps that's because the human race has learned some manners.
Who knows.
The mission becomes acceptance. This is where I am at. Trainer, body therapist and dietician all reassure that this is the new me. Unless I want to dedicate my life to defeating stomach extension or pay a lot of money for a tummy tuck. I don't have the time and I don't have the money. This is the new me. And this will likely be my daughter's bodies too, so it's up to me to change the narrative.
Bellies are beautiful.
Bellies are beautiful.
Stained with stretch marks, rounded with life.
Bellies are beautiful.
