Unfortunately, there's some non-magical side effects to growing a human. My body was completely ripped to shreds. The stretch marks are horrific. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a completely unattractive person. My stomach is stretched and marked to endless amounts; my skin is loose from where the little boy that I now hold in my arms was once in my stomach; my chest is now graced with dark purple marks from the rapid growth to provide nurishment for my sweet child; my thighs and hips are not without damage as well, as I notice every day as I try to squeeze into my old "fat jeans."
It's tough. It really is. I've shed countless tears in the bathroom mirror (admittedly wasted moments that I should be spent snuggling my little miracle) as I take in this new person that reflects back at me. I've rushed to cover myself as I heard my husband turning the handle to get something as I get dressed so he wouldn't see me, while deseperately hoping he didn't catch a glance of my striped stomach. I even went as far as wearing only nursing tanks, so I wouldn't have to lift up a shirt to nurse my baby and have anyone see my scarred body.
I am consciously self conscious.
But, I would never EVER trade a single one of these marks for my baby boy. Every single one provides evidence that I was able to bring a miraculous little person into this world. My body, by God's grace, was home to the sweetest, most cuddly baby in my world. And for that, I am thankful. For that, I am blessed.