Let me tell you a story: Yesterday in the shower I was trying to shave my legs standing up, which is no easy feat when you have a pregnant belly to contend with. I had already torn through my entire closet, claiming that there was nothing to wear and I should probably just skip work. I rubbed in copious amounts of cocoa butter lotion, which I have to admit I’ve started to despise the scent of, despite the fact that it keeps my skin from itching and I’m hoping that it minimizes the number of stretch marks that I’ll be getting. I put on a little concealer to cover up the pregnancy acne that I’ve been experiencing despite keeping a strictly normal skin routine of washing with gentle soap and moisturizing. It always worked pre-pregnancy! I finally threw on my maternity jeans, a T-shirt and a cute hoody and called it a day.
And then I looked in the mirror. I may not look the same as I did when I was in high school, college, as a newlywed or even what I looked like immediately before becoming pregnant. But what I see in the mirror and how I feel in my body – this is the first time that I can honestly say that I fully respect everything my body does, everything my body is, and everything about how I look. Pregnancy isn’t the thing that defines me or what I look like, but it is the thing showing me what I am physically capable of. And that is beautiful.