9.10.2013

Midweek Prayers: Sequels Stink

I'm convinced that it's generally new versions of the same old crap that bite me in the butt, rather than new stuff.

When my sweet friends found out I was pregnant, many of them said, "you're going to be such a cute pregnant lady!"  And since I think pretty much all pregnant ladies are cute, I agreed.

Because I totally forgot about my fucking boobs.  Which are outpacing my tiny belly at a horrific rate*, and succeeding (once again) in making me dumpy instead of darling.  Now, 6 months in, when no one can tell I'm expecting unless they're told (well, and Dave, who's lovely, but doesn't count), I realize that the same body stuff that stank 20 years ago pretty much still stinks.

I feel 13 again (because I'm still the middle schooler being told she looked like a whore for wearing a shirt unbuttoned over a tank top).  Or 19 (because I'm still the college girl whose boobs were the only thing anyone suggested as a reason a man would be interested in her).  Or any of the other ages where my body was fair game for public discourse, and assumptions were made about who I was based on my shape.  (I do not feel at all like 21 or 30, where I figured out how to turn lemons into lemonade.  Melons into some sort of daiquiri, I guess.)  I feel conspicuous, not in the warm, maternal, hoped-for way, but in the "these are all anyone sees of me... AGAIN" way.  I had a lovely two weeks in the first trimester where I thought, "I don't have to hide these-- they're pregnancy boobs!  It's finally acceptable!"  But that was 3 cup sizes ago.

I wanted to look like a mom, and instead I look like more of a caricature than I did to start with.  I wanted to embody something joyful; instead I look even more like the same old ugly jokes and jibes.  Same old stuff.  New version.

I know in my head that the trick is to shut out the voices around me (and the echoes of old voices that I let bounce around), and try to hear the voice of the One who designed me.  My heart just wants to sit on the floor and wail, though.  I need prayers beyond my own to get my head and heart on the same page.

*This is, incidently, not the time for the "miracle of life, and accepting your changing body" speech.  I love watching the baby move every night when I go to bed.  The kicks are sometimes uncomfortable, but I'm always happy to think that wiggling means the little cheeseburger is doing OK.  This is not about that. That is not helpful.



4 comments:

  1. Oh, sweetie. I have absolutely no experience of pregnancy and yet I relate so much to the body image problems and have been fighting with buying a new bra (which is so problematic that I've asked a friend to go with me to hold my hand...)

    Remember that you are beautiful and you are as God made you...even when that sucks. And I love you.

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    1. All helpful-- thanks, MB.

      For whatever it's worth: bra shopping online (pre-preg, anyway) made it a million times better for me. More options, less stress about being the "right" letters and numbers.

      I'll be thinking of you, and holding you in prayer, too, as I'm thinking of this.

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  2. Old stuff sucks. The word that sticks with me is "caricature" ~ I looked up the etymology, and it means an overloading, and I envision an overloading of shame onto your body and heart. There is still a girl part of me that imagines if I am ashamed enough, I will intercept shaming directed at me. I will keep you in my heart.

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    1. Margaret, you nailed it, and you charmed me with your methodology in the process.

      I'm so grateful we hold each other in our hearts.

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