I posted a picture of myself on Instagram last week wearing a maternity tankini top. No I'm not pregnant, there is no big announcement around here. It's just that I have a belly. I've always had one. The battle with my belly has been a life long war I've waged with myself. These days it seems to be getting worse as Mackenzie has taken to talking to it. Telling me that there is a baby in there, and I just keep responding with "Nope, it's just food". Because no matter how hard I try, I think after two kids, three years of being super sick, and almost three years on the Paleo diet, my body has finally settled into itself. I weigh what I weighed before Mackenzie. My hips and thighs are fuller than they have ever been, and my belly, well my belly is pretty much the same one I've been carrying around since high school.
The funny thing about this whole "body acceptance" journey is that my Husband, the Hubbs, still thinks I should be strutting around in a bikini. He asked me a few weekends ago while I was getting ready to go swim at my mom's house, why I didn't wear a regular bikini. I laughed at him. Like, stopped what I was doing at laughed. Then I lifted up my shirt and said, "Have you seen this lately?", while I grabbed a handful of my middle. "Yeah, so?", was his only reaction. So? So? So I'm not showing off this belly to anyone but you mister!
But his reaction to my "bikini ready body" got me thinking. This man, my Hubbs, still thinks I have a rocking body. Even after two kids and two attempts at breastfeeding. He still wants me and this body, the stretch marks and flab do not sway his devotion to this body. And though his attempts to grab my boobs while I try to flip pancakes on a Sunday morning annoys me to no end, there is something very sacred about my husband still enjoying this thirty six year old flabby, saggy body. There is something very poetic about him still wanting me as if I was that twenty one year old sorority girl he met almost fifteen years ago.
Because fifteen years ago I was so worried about the way my belly pooched. I was so worried about my arm flab and my boobs not looking like a super model's. Fifteen years ago I kept my eyes closed because I didn't want to see him looking at my imperfections. I was always so worried about my body and how it looked to him. It's only now I realize he didn't see a single imperfection. And blessedly he still doesn't, if anything I think he appreciates and enjoys it more now than ever.
Last week my best friend told me I should go for it and rock that bikini. Again I laughed. She said "Didn't you read that lady's blog post", and I said yeah I did, but I'm still wearing this. Because I'm not ready for a bikini. I may never be, and I've accepted that. I've accepted that maybe this is what I'm supposed to look like. That this is the size I'm supposed to be. I finally realize that all that really matters is that I like it, and the Hubbs likes it. I may not be comfortable in a bikini but I'm totally comfortable with that.
The Hubbs thinks I should wear a bikini... God Bless him.
