I’m gonna be honest, here. It’s awesome that the trend for celebrating real women’s bodies, particularly post-birth, is catching on. It truly is. And nobody needs a self-esteem boost quite like an exhausted mum in the middle of newborn maelstrom. But that doesn’t make me a-okay with the prospect of more folds, rolls and nifty skin pockets a la Jabba the Hutt, or extra stretch marks to add to my already generous collection, or a pair of mammaries worthy of a National Geographic special – should I feel the desire to procreate once more.
Now, I don’t have a huge problem with my pregnancy-pummelled physique, but the human body – and my self-image – is only so forgiving; if I have another bambino, I don’t want to be hating on my reflection from here to eternity.
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