I touch my belly underwhelmed.

In high school, my best friend* was tall and thin and I was neither.  When we would hang out, I would eat exactly the same things she ate and continued to wonder why I never looked like her.  My hips were round, my belly even more so.  I was uncomfortable in my skin, always wanting to look like someone else – anyone but my curvy self.  In particular, it was my stomach that I concentrated on the most.  It flowed out over my pants as I sat and rounded out over the sides as I stood.  In college I took better care of myself by eating better and working-out regularly, but my stomach remained full.  When I would look in the mirror, my eyes would never see the curve of my neck or the strength in my legs, they would focus solely on my stomach, never measuring up to what I wanted it to be.

As an adult, the attention on my never-flat stomach has still not wained.  But today, I rest my hands on my stomach, and despite the curves below my fingers, it has never felt flatter.  As I move my hands, I can even swear it’s concave.  My hands disappear in it’s hollowness.

The life-long desire is gone.

These new eyes of mine now seek a belly in the mirror that doesn’t allow my pants to button.  My heart longs for a stomach that doesn’t just flow over my jeans, but protrudes so obviously over, no one will mistake it for a too-big blouse.  The roundness would no longer be my worst enemy.  It would be welcome and loved, even nourished.*  I suddenly want something that I have spent my entire life fighting away.  22 years reversed in a single year.

I have to believe my stomach won’t always be this flat.  That someday soon it will have a roundness the most beautiful I have ever seen.

A roundness I will praise my eyes for focusing on.

I’m trying my damnedest to believe this.

–

* She’s still my best friend and still just as beautiful as ever.  And just so you know, she never made me feel like that.  It was all my own doing.  Why are we such jerks to ourselves?

** and I will do my best to continue this frame of mind – in a healthful manner – long after I’ve become a mom.  It’s not just about the want of pregnancy, but about a healthy body image with or without child.  I want my daughter to embrace her inevitable curves [unlike her mother allowed herself to do] and I want my son to love a woman as she’s meant to be.  But right now, obviously, the only roundness I can focus on is that of a baby.  Not that I had to tell you that.

Positive schmositive.

Last night I had a dream I was 25 weeks pregnant.  I don’t usually dream about being pregnant, but when I do I’m barely pregnant or I’m 9 months along but don’t even have a belly, so this was a new occurrence for me.  I had a big round belly and I remember thinking “Wow, I made it this far, that’s good.  Only 15 more weeks to go.”  Then right after that discovery, I realized I hadn’t been to the doctor since finding out I was pregnant and I had no confirmation that the baby in me was still alive.  I had this overwhelming feeling that it was dead and even though my belly was big, it had failed regardless; yet I felt compelled to continue thinking positively because maybe it could change the fact that it was already gone.  It’s so funny this positive thinking thing.  I’ve believed for a long time that we have power over our bodies with how we think, but now I just don’t know.  I believed it in the second pregnancy and even managed to continue it in the third.  But it failed both times.  All my positive thoughts did nothing.  My babies still died.  I think that’s where the part of me that feels like I failed comes from, that I did what I was supposed to do, and it still didn’t work.  Even in my dreams I realize that in the big picture, it still doesn’t work if something isn’t right.  I wonder how I will be when I get pregnant again, if it will be a struggle or if I will wonder if it’s even worth it.  I don’t know.  What do you think?  Do you believe in the powers of our mind?  Is there even any proof that it works?   Should I just think I’m doomed from the beginning since thinking otherwise does nothing?  Do you want to slap me yet?

6 weeks.

I’m six weeks today. And although I know there’s no possible way I could be showing when that little guy is only the size of a sesame seed lentil, I kind of wanted proof that at some point before this started, I had a somewhat flat stomach. It will also act as some motivation come November and a starting point to look back on once I do start to show. Maybe I’ll even make a flip book of my ever-expanding stomach.

I’m still feeling pretty normal. I have been a little more tired, and these last two days have been harder than the 3 1/2 weeks before them…overall though, I’d say I’ve had it pretty good so far. But trust me, I’m enjoying every minute of feeling normal. I’m like a soldier about to head into battle, taking in every little last bit of normalcy before my whole life changes. But bring it on, body, I can handle it.

(P.S. Also…please excuse me while I go clean my mirror. Don’t look. Focus on the white pasty belly instead.)