That gosh darned c-section pouch.
That stupid flab of skin that three babies and two surgeries has left behind. If you’ve ever wondered what part of my postpartum body bothers me, it’s this. It’s not because I think a flab of skin is gross. It’s because it’s hard to dress. It makes finding clothes that fit hard. If I wear high waisted, I get a pouch. If I wear regular waisted pants, it hangs over the top.
I’m so tired of feeling like I have to be self-conscious about it. Feeling like people are staring at it. Feeling like I’ll never wear pants normally ever again. Because the last time I lost weight after Bea that bump never truly went away. It got much smaller but never disappeared.
But #my_body_is still a magical being. And this flab exists because I have three beautiful, healthy daughters who are so much more important than what “imperfections” society thinks my body has.