I was recently asked “What am I going to do about this baby weight?”

Now I am a woman who feels the burdens of my sisters worldwide
And one might suppose I write to raise up the spirit of earthly femininity,
to wax lyrically of the greatest beauty being on the inside
But this is not a shout out to heal the hurts of the body shamed
This is a poem aimed like the flat of a palm to the face of a woman trying to erase her child’s history

For every whining ungrateful ***** too focused on stretch marks and thighs to see the miracle before her eyes
The gift feeding in her arms while she calculates the calories her child is burning for her
Counting minutes in treadmill steps as nourishment wastes through the holes in what might bind love tighter.
And she traces her stretch marks like runs in ruined tights
Places her hand beneath that pooch and wiggles it in front of the mirror
Clasps her hand across her mouth to stifle a cry of 8lbs left to lose

I am prostrate on my living room floor offering up my body as a living sacrifice - praying
God give me a shark bite scarred stomach in pinkish hue mapping out another dream come true
When the time comes let my stomach deflate to the sag of a post party balloon
I’ll take the varicose veins and wear them like Pretty Polly satin sheen
Every wound along the way, every scar I will frame in honour ribbons and tie my low hanging ******* in a bow
Because this is a gift for which I would give up every distraction in my life,
For which I would sell every object I possess,
Give away every penny I have and spend my life working to pay unending debt
For which I would cut off body parts as an offering of thanks
just to have the chance to feel my baby's weight upon my breast.

Ask me again
“What am I going to do about this baby weight?”
Love him.