coming back from the dead only to find a soccer ball sized growth on your abdomen.

so i've been pregnant for six months now and this week i noticed something.

my belly is poking out. 

according to the pregnancy app on my phone, my uterus is now roughly the size of a soccer ball. 

(and then the app made a joke about how i'm already a soccer mom. ... uh, good one, app.)

but wait, when did that happen? 

obviously, i've sort of noticed my body changing, but through the haze of nauseous, vomitous, migraneous, lightheadedness, depressing sickness, it really didn't register, nor did i care at all. about anything besides wanting to just die. travis heard it multiple times, "why can't i just die?" and he would respond, if you die, what about remington? and i will admit, at that point i really didn't care; i just wanted something, anything, to put me out of my misery. 

and if you are thinking i'm a terrible person for thinking that, then you have never been that physically miserable. or i'm just really weak. but, that's a whole other post for another day. 

anyway, this past week, i've been having more good days. and let me clarify here that a good day means i'm able to eat a small group of bland foods, taking a shower isn't out of the question, i might be able to leave the house for an hour or two, (as long as i lay down the rest of the day) and the nausea level (that would have knocked me out before this pregnancy) will be manageable with three different prescription drugs meant  for cancer and diabetes patients. 

so more good days this last week meant i was able to spend more time thinking about other things besides surviving. one thing i took notice of was my appearance. hair has grown a bit, (and seems much healthier since starting fluids) toned arms not so toned anymore..., AND GOOD HOLY BATMAN, WHAT'S HAPPENED TO MY ABS?!? 

by the way, this post isn't a plea for compliments and reassurance. i get plenty of that from my mom, ("no, no you haven't gained weight in your face, it's all in your belly!") and from travis, ("your boobs look incredible!") and i have instructed them to just continue the lies. i don't care how huge i get; tell me i look amazing. 

but all the sudden noticing that your old t-shirts don't quite cover your tummy, which is now webbed with dark blue veins, complete with not-so-deep-as-before belly button, is weird. 

so i did what we all tend to do when freaking out about a changing appearance: went shopping for new clothes. (i also used to deal with that by eating A LOT of ice cream, but sweets aggravate the nausea, so just the money spending bit was utilized.) huge relief to discover i'm still wearing the same sizes as before, which shouldn't be that surprising considering how little i've been eating, but i haven't been away from the gym for this long in three years. yeah all that muscle is gone. 

a new pair of jeans, several shirts, and a rather sexy dress did help me feel better about the bodily changes, but all this made me really examine how backwards my view of what makes my body valuable is. 

my body just survived months and months of terrible sickness, becoming severely dehydrated and entering the beginning stages of malnutrition, and still managed to grow a human person. yet instead of celebrating this fact, i looked at my body with criticism and shame. but really, after 24 years of a culture conditioning me to believe my body is only valuable if it's a certain size and fat percentage, what else was i supposed to think? 

i've also been having a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of breastfeeding. i never knew why, but it's always seemed so wrong to me. i know all the facts; i know that breastfeeding is wonderful, that it releases oxytocin in the brain, which makes you feel good and helps bonding. that mom's breastmilk is perfectly customized for the baby's individual needs, with the antibodies that will fight sickness, etc. that breastfeeding burns calories and helps to shrink mom's uterus. i know all of this. still grossed me out to picture doing it. and i think i feel that way because i only see breasts as something sexual. it seemed so foreign to me that my breasts could be used to nourish and grow someone, instead of being expected to be large, perky, and satisfying to every-man-on-earth. or even, as i discovered, being used for my own sexual pleasure. 

so wait, my female body can grow and feed a human being? and yet the only way for our culture to value my female body is if it looks and feels a certain way? is this supposed to make any sense? 

it's hard to break 24 years of conditioning. it's hard for me to look at my body without feeling terrified of the new soccer-ball-sized growth. it's hard for me to look at my breasts in a completely different light. 

but just when i'm convinced i'll never love my body again and i'll never be able to shift my view of what's valuable, 

remington kicks me. 

and i know one person who appreciates my female body for what really matters.

xo