Loving A Post-Baby Body

by Lisa Emmerich

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I felt sexy enough to wear dipping necklines on dinner dates and mini bikinis at the neighborhood pool. But then my body started changing, subtly but surely—my belly became a cozy home for a precious person; my arms became a cradle, my breasts a warm restaurant.

I had been a jeans-and-pony-tail kind of girl by day, a funky-dress-and-strappy-sandals girl by night. I wasn’t afraid to use my body to attract attention, adopt an image or create pleasure—like wearing a body-hugging shirt underneath my tailored work suit or cooking dinner in a thong. As the baby began kicking in my second trimester, wearing a sports bra and running shorts out on a jog no longer felt sexy—it seemed inappropriate. Even if my tummy bump barely showed, I was someone’s mother.

When I dreamed of having a baby, I thought it would take time to work off the weight I gained. Instead, I lost the extra 40 pounds in a few months. But my body changed in other ways: my hips widened, my breasts ballooned, fine lines marbled the pouch of loose skin on my lower abdomen. None of my clothes fit right.

Before I had time to come to grips with my new body, I was pregnant again. For almost four years, I wore an outfit that my husband affectionately dubbed my mommy uniform: comfortable jeans or cargos and a T-shirt one size too loose. The getup worked because it hid my flaws—and I never had to think about what to put on in the morning.

Around my younger girl’s first birthday, I weaned her from breastfeeding, thinking it was time to reclaim my body for me and my husband. I filled garbage bags with clothes that didn’t fit, discarded my pregnancy underwear and ordered some key pieces online—a few good pairs of hip-hugging jeans, the kind I have to hop a bit to get into, flirty skirts and some tank tops to replace my standard T’s. I put on some matching jewelry and dug out a coral-colored alternative to my typical tube of Chapstick.