Embracing The Squish

10 years ago a doctor sat across from me and told me I had cancer.

She looked at my boyfriend and asked him how serious we were.

She explained that if I had the surgery that was recommended, there was a fairly significant chance that I wouldn’t be able to have kids.

I was 24.

That night I turned to my boyfriend and told him that he had an out. I knew he wanted kids and I knew that I may not be the person that was able to give them to him. His response? “Well, then we’ll be Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt… just more attractive.”

Disclaimer: This was 2007: Pre-biological children, messy divorce Brangelina.

In case you’re wondering, yes, that was the moment I decided that this was the man I was going to marry.

Yesterday, I went to my annual OBGYN appointment. After years of having to go every three months post-surgery, it’s nice to only go once a year. I stepped on the scale and immediately started making excuses. See, it’s not that I’m overweight, or inactive, it’s that every time I have a child my “happy weight” goes up by five pounds. No matter what I do, my body springs to that weight. Dieting, exercise, fighting to stay in shape despite my daily insanity, BOOM- those ten pounds want to stay right where they’re comfortable… on my hips. I dwell, I guilt myself, I feel inadequate, and all the while I don’t ever see what everyone else sees.

The doctor proudly reminded me that I was coming up on my ten year mark. Healthy as a horse, with two beautiful children. When ten years ago, someone had to sit across a desk from me and verbalize my deepest fears.

I was ashamed of what I had to go through.

I do not consider myself a survivor.

Every time I think of that situation I remind myself that there are so many that go through so much worse.

But the truth is this-

Those extra ten pounds are constant reminder of my blessings.

That squish that I hate is not going to go away.

My body is not ever going to be the body that I had at 24.

It is SO MUCH BETTER.

This body is healthy.

This body has carried two healthy, beautiful boys.

This body is not trying to kill me.

So tonight, I indulged in an extra glass of wine, an extra slice of pizza. I actually fed into the squish. It was a thank you gift. Because, mamas, as much as we fight against it, those jiggly, loathed parts of our bodies are a constant reminder of our blessings. Not every woman wants, or can ever achieve, the “mom-pooch.” So, I’ll raise a glass to mine.

10 years.

One diagnosis.

A thousand different fears.

One incredible husband.

Two miraculous sons.

Countless blessings.

In hindsight, worrying about how my children have changed my body is pointless. It’s also normal, but I digress. Yesterday was giant reminder of what could have been, and I hate that I’ve been so focused on how to hide the physical reminders of my kids. How many women want what I have? How many women have the same exact fears? How many women weren’t as lucky?

These hips don’t lie.

And it’s time I stopped asking them to.

Cheers to the squish, mamas. You’re beautiful.

And me, I am too.