A Conversation With My Belly, Postpartum

9 mos. pregnant with Guijo. 2011

While executing a back bend during yoga class, I felt my shirt slide to expose a part of my belly. My first instinct was to try to pull my shirt up to hide my grotesque flesh, but my hands were pressed to the mat, carrying the weight  of my body. I felt trapped and in a slight state of panic. Then the instructor said, "Let go", "Open your mind and body", "Ease into the pose"... and I dutifully listened. "Stay there for five full breaths", she said. And I complied. And in those five breaths, I found myself thinking beautiful thoughts of gratitude directed at my body. I gave my belly a silent thank you speech. 

Thank you dear belly, for housing my most precious offspring -  my daughter Narra first, then my son, Guijo. Thank you for cushioning them with your protective layers of womb, and fluid, and fat. Thank you for adjusting your skin perfectly in tune with their needs: stretching just enough to give them room; but remaining tight enough to give them support.  Thank you for your contractions which delivered my children into the light. You generously expanded yourself to your very limits so that I may fulfill my destiny and become mother.  You quietly, gently retracted back to normal when the task was done, so I may lay my babies on your soft surface as I nourish them with my milk. 

4 mos. pregnant with Narra. Punta De Lima, Laguna. 2009.

I used to view your stretch marks as battle scars - but what an awful, violent metaphor this is! Giving birth is not a story of war. Rather, it is  a tale of cooperation, when everyone unites to protect the most glorious gift of life.  Your stretch marks dear belly, are my historic markers of peace - celebrating my milestones, of those moments when I accepted my vocation to nurture the lives entrusted to me.  

And how kindly I was treated by the world when you were fully on display as a womb with child. Strangers felt welcome to strike a conversation, and we received an abundance of pleasantries - in word and deed. Doors were held open, seats were given up, everyone rushed to carry our bags or push our carts - it is as though the world conspired to help us carry the weight of propagating humankind.  When you were in full bloom, you had the power to disarm even the most disenchanted folk. I've seen stern faces turn soft in your presence, I remember a surly security guard doing a routine airport check transform from strict-and-brisk to kind-and-gentle in a heartbeat! 

7 mos. pregnant. Pearl Farm, Davao. 2011.

I thank you for letting me experience the world in a whole new way. Like when we went swimming in the sea and I had to discover a new sense of balance - it was like being introduced to buoyancy for the first time. In fact, you pushed me to re-learn everything - from the most basic things: to breathe, to eat, to sleep, to walk, to sit. You forced me to be humble, to listen to my body and to follow its dictates. I was kindest to my body in your presence. I ate well, and stayed away from smoke and dirt; and other poisonous elements (like anger and regret). 

Pregnant, I felt connected to Mother Earth as I never have before. I could feel the pulse of Pacha Mama resonating in my body, through you, my awakened belly. You were like a portal to other worlds.  I saw the world creating the world - chains of life-giving power: the earth bearing trees; the trees bearing fruit; fruit bearing seeds; seeds falling to earth; so the earth can bear trees... and on and on, I saw it all, how pregnant the world is, constantly. Is it just me, or do pregnant women really enjoy a heightened awareness, when all our senses open to the world more than ever before?

So I say to my belly: after all these gifts you've given me, what right have I to be ashamed of you? How could my first instinct be to hide you now? And think of you as grotesque? In my vanity, you have been transmogrified from "bearer-of-life" to "bringer-of-shame".  I am sorry, my belly. My mind has bad habits I've yet to break.  I was conditioned to think of beauty in terms of flat bellies covered by flawless skin, so much so that I felt compelled to hide you with my hands, even at the risk of me collapsing to the floor. My apologies. You are part of what I am now, for I wouldn't be a mother had you not been stretched to house my children.  I accept you for the mother's belly that you are. And I will take care of you, and nurture you gently back to the best shape you could possibly be in, by strengthening your muscles; and slathering soothing balms on your stressed surface; and getting you nourished with good stuff from within. And next time you peek through my clothes at yoga class, I won't lose composure in embarrassed panic! For we are a work in progress, you and I, companions on the road to recovery,  and that's a good, good thing.