My Body After Baby: A New Kind of Home
No one clapped when I put on my old jeans.
Because I didn’t.
I tried, once — two weeks postpartum — and they stopped at my thighs like an unapologetic truth.
I stood there for a moment.
Then folded them away, slowly.
Not with shame, but with a quiet not yet.
This body — the one I had carried, birthed, bled, fed —
She didn’t bounce back.
She softened.
Her belly still curved, as if she hadn’t quite let go.
Her hips, wider.
Her chest, tender.
And her skin? It whispered stories in faded lines I never used to have.
But she woke up every night to feed someone small.
She held life in her arms, even when her back ached.
She showed up.
And that — I began to realize — was beautiful.
How I learned to live in her again:
I stopped calling her “before” and “after.”
There was no “getting her back.”
This was her now.
So I gave her softness: high-waisted leggings that didn’t dig, cotton bralettes that said “comfort first,” and loose dresses I would’ve once called “frumpy” — now I called them grace.
I changed my mirror talk.
Not every day.
But sometimes, I’d stand in front of the mirror and say:
“Thank you for carrying her.”
“Thank you for letting go.”
“Thank you for staying.”
I made peace with slow.
Instead of workout goals, I started with walks.
Sometimes just to the end of the block with baby strapped to me in a soft wrap.
Sometimes just pacing the hallway, barefoot, whispering lullabies.
And that was enough movement for the day.
I touched her again.
I used belly oil — not to erase stretch marks, but to feel connected again.
Each night, a few drops on my hands, a slow massage across my middle.
I said nothing out loud, but in my mind I whispered: “I see you. I haven’t forgotten.”
I used to think strength looked like tight skin and toned arms.
Now I know — strength sometimes looks like
milk-stained pajamas,
tear-streaked cheeks,
and the courage to stay in your own skin
even when it doesn’t feel like home yet.
So if you’re looking at your body right now and wondering:
Will I ever feel like me again?
Here’s what I know:
You don’t have to go back.
You’re allowed to become.