In the days and weeks following the birth of my youngest son, I was invincible. My astonishment at the power of birthing that beautiful creature, my way, made me feel mighty, sexy, dazzling. I did that. I rode the waves of labor. I grunted him into the world. My memories weren't clouded by drugs or fear or orders I didn't want to follow or procedures and medications I wasn't allowed to refuse or even discuss. My body was mine, and I had learned to trust it fully.
Now, I hate this body. It failed. It lied, it was broken, and I don't know what any feeling means, anymore. Am I thirsty? Hungry? Tired? Sick? I don't know. Is it any surprise I have had three viruses in two months?
Will it always be this way? Will I ever trust myself again? Will I wake up one day and own this flesh and no longer feel like I'm just wearing a Pixie-shaped suit? That plays into my hunger for another baby, I'm sure. Can I ever get past this without giving birth ever again?
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I promise that eventually you will love yourself again. I know I just got through this same struggle myself. Not to discourage you, I spent two and a half years feeling as you have just described. I can't even tell you when exactly it changed. But I know it has. Would I still like another baby? Yes. Is it okay if I don't again? I can finally (without crying or a lot of sadness) say yes.
Prayers your way.
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