Mom Bod Malfunctions: Unplanned Surgeries and Other Postpartum Plot Twists

If losing my last 15 lbs and fitting back into size 4 pants wasn’t already a formidable enough challenge, my doctor just informed me I now need surgery to repair an umbilical hernia that contains not just fat, but also some of my intestine. Cool. Cool. Just what I needed.

I mean, vomiting for nine hours straight post-delivery, coming this close to a stroke in the days that followed, getting hit by a distracted driver and having my van totalled with my kids inside (hello, whiplash), dealing with costochondritis, and managing a janky core plus four inches of abdominal separation—none of that was on my postpartum bingo card either.

My baby is thriving, and I feel well mood-wise. But I feel like my body is really not kicking ass in this round of advanced maternal age motherhood, and honestly, I’m bummed. I’ve been taking the vitamins, exercising, eating my own placenta (yeah, I'm that weirdo), and yet… I just can’t seem to win. I want to be strong physically and mentally, and feel like myself again.

I'm also struggling with giving myself permission to focus on my body, mind, and spirit instead of pouring everything into my kids. Intuitively, I know this is better than letting resentment take over. After my son was born, it took me 2.5 years to really remember myself and pay attention to my own needs and desires. But now I know better—I know the hidden costs. These days, neglecting those parts of myself feels like slow death. So even if it means prioritizing my well-being a bit more over other things, it must be done. My kids will thank me later.

On with it, then.

Birthmarks and Brazen Vulnerability: Reclaiming the Parts of Me I Once Hated

Birthmarks, once concealed, now free to live on face and foot. My mother tried to tell me they were beauty marks—small declarations of my uniqueness. Only took thirty-odd years to see them as such.

Carefree, dark waves with streaks of sunlight, once tamed, now left to their own devices.

An over-identification with feelings and a tendency toward ‘cringe’ vulnerability and volatility, now seen through softer eyes as authenticity, honesty, and emotional courage.

Debilitating perfectionism, now in remission; instead, a newly carved internal space for both excellence and failure, with recognition that I’m giving my best from one moment to the next.

Crippling indecisiveness, now seen as openness to new experiences, and the fluidity of making choices according to self-trust and intuition, not just fear.

Shame and guilt—now recognized as an internal working alarm system, reminding me of my humanity, of my concern for my impact on others, and my desire not to hurt them.

I’m still refining the rest of it. Probably a lifelong process, eh? The point is, everything, even the so-called ugly stuff, serves a purpose.

Full Circle: The Years Passed Like Scenes of a Show — The Professor Said to Write What You Know

I visited my alma mater today, baby in tow. Since I was in the area meeting a friend, I decided it was finally time to part with some of my old textbooks during the college’s book buyback week. I’ve been trying to be more intentional about what I hold onto—shedding what no longer serves me to make space for what does.

It felt strange being back in a place so heavy with visceral memories. Vivid vignettes of meaningful conversations with classmates and professors in the very concourse where I now held my daughter flashed before me. Even the parking garage held resonance. As it turns out, imprints of a different chapter of my life are not so easily dulled. I attended college here on and off since 2011, graduating from my diploma program in 2013. But it was the second round of full-time studies that almost broke me. The last stretch of my undergrad was brutal. In my final semester, anxiety pressed down so hard it made me nauseous just stepping onto campus. I’d slip into windowless rooms to study, avoiding the bright chatter of the halls and the sidelong smiles from flirty 20-year-old boys who had no idea I was just trying to hold myself together as I was mentally breaking. More than once, I ended up dry heaving in the campus bathroom before class, face hot with tears, wondering how I’d make it through another day. I finally graduated in the spring of 2023 and never looked back, until today.

As I walked those familiar halls with my daughter on my hip, I realized something I hadn’t before: every sleepless night, every panicked exam, every haphazardly written paper, every moment I thought I wouldn’t make it through… all of it led to her—this brilliant beacon of light and goodness who connects me to my purpose. Somehow, being there again with her turned a place that once felt heavy into one that felt whole.

And when I left, I noticed it. I was lighter walking out than I’d been walking in.

Returning to such a formative environment with my daughter enabled me to truly see how one of the most difficult and intense times of my life connected to this moment—like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

I couldn’t see it back then, but every bit of it was for her.

And for me, too.

For our becoming.