My beautiful, broken body

This body of mine has plenty to show for its short time here on earth so far, from the simple stubbed toes and skinned knees of childhood to the surgeries that have marked my later years.

Each scar has become a reminder that pain is fleeting ,and that slowly, what was once raw and bruised becomes a part of my well-worn topographical landscape.

My body, once slightly chiseled from years of movement through dancing (and good genes), has gone marshmallow squishy soft. I still consider it beautiful, if a little lacking in the strength department. I now get the Mom Jean barbs. It me.

My body has been a trooper, undergoing three D&C procedures as well as a ruptured tubal pregnancy, which led to an emergency surgery and the loss of one fallopian tube. Thankfully, the other one was all I needed to bring Wild Child into this world.

My body has been almost as durable as Timex, withstanding the waspish sting of more than a thousand injections from my MS therapy, which in turn prepared me for the rigors of a round of IVF and its twice-daily stomach shots. I tell myself I packed on the pounds to make more room for all the shots I had to take. (Fun fact – my grandma worked at Timex, years and years ago.)

I have scars galore. Pregnancy and childbirth introduced a soft belly pouch, a Flabalanche as my friend Heidi so accurately called it. Those shots I took left behind the most dazzling array of pockmarks.

Still, I marvel at what my body has been able to endure, and in most cases, recover from.

It grew a human for nearly nine months and brought her into this world.

Emotionally, I am still reeling from the c-section that required me being completely put to sleep, which meant that I wasn’t the first or second or even fifth person to hold my baby girl. Physically, that scar is a faint trace of the pain that led to my greatest joy.

This body of mine doesn’t quite work like it should. My brain’s signals are lost in translation most days, meaning I stumble around like I’m under the influence. I wouldn’t pass a field sobriety test in my current condition.

Yet I still am amazed at what this body of mine is capable of, despite of it all.

Is my body beautiful? Depends on the yardstick. Let’s just say I won’t be land any modeling contracts or win fitness competitions anytime soon. But long ago I stopped obsessing over my size and shape and instead focused on strength, endurance, flexibility.

I believe we are wonderfully made creatures. Miracles amid the broken pieces. The brokenness is what makes us whole.

My body, after years of fertility struggles, gave life to the rainbow baby with us today. My body, weak though it may be, still gets me through the day in spite of MS.

It may be broken, but I still say it’s beautiful.

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