She is My Body and I will Share Her

My body was once my own.  I fed her what I wanted and when I wanted.  I worked her to my liking.  She responded nicely, kindly.  For years I tried to hide her shapes and scrolls, covering her, protecting her, protecting me.  And when I finally saw her clearly, in her beauty and uniqueness, in her firmness and softness, I loved her.  She, my young body, added confidence.  

My body is no longer my own.  Two lives have come from her.  My torso held life, twice, for nine months.  Skin and bones moved, stretched to make room for daughters.  Hips opened as wide as they could for the exit of Avery and Emery, only to be told they were not good enough, wide enough, welcoming enough.  The detoured route left a purple line across the mid section of her, a halfway mark of sorts, a line drawn to open for life.  My breasts, still full of nourishment, carry the weight of life in them.  My mind wonders if she will be able to restore them to their previous post.  My legs and back lift and carry those daughters daily, for hugs, for rest, for comfort, for protection.  My arms wrap so nicely around their soft, little bodies, showing love and respect.  And, this body, my body, I see even more clearly now.  Her beauty and uniqueness, in all of her firmness and softness, make me love her even more.  She has given me two lives to love, two daughters to teach to love themselves, confidently.  She is my body and I will share her.