Some days I wonder if there is any way I’ll ever be able to accept what childbirth did to my body and mind.
Scratch that.
Most days I wonder that.
Then every once in a while, the desert gets a deluge of rain and a hail storm in the middle of the night, thunder crashes, and I wake up. Literally. And that’s what happened last night.
It’s rare, but this morning the ground and cactus are covered in a beautiful layer of raindrops, and the wind is carrying the incredible aroma of creosote. And last night, perhaps as a result of this unusual Tucson weather, I dreamt that I was beautiful and sexy and confident because of my flaws.
The stretchmarks on my belly, hips, thighs, and breasts were something to be celebrated. My postpartum depression and near-hospitalization was a normal part of childbirth. The scars on my vagina from birthing two babies much too big for my little hoo-haw were sexy. My three kinds of prolapse that I deal with on a daily basis were parts of motherhood that everyone understood and were unafraid to talk about. The changes that my nether-regions have been through made me more desirable instead of leaving me feeling like a dark, empty hole.
I wasn’t alone.
And in my dream, I walked along a completely ghetto street in downtown Seattle, smoking a cigarette (and I don’t smoke… where the hell did that come from?), and knew that not a single one of the threatening-looking people around could hurt me. I felt invincible.
This morning I still feel it, and I want so desperately to hold onto that amazing image of being whole again.
I don’t want the clouds to clear out this morning, but the frustrating blue skies are beginning to peek through.
If only that dream never ended.
Current Mood:
Confused
Cool