A Little Black Dress

I’ll never forget my little black dress. It was a slip on dress that fit so well there was no bra required. It had tasteful little cut outs around the sides of the torso, covered in with sheer material but enough to show off my back tattoos that I love so much. I wore that dress three times.

Before the debut of the little black dress I had been struggling with an unrelated illness that lead me to lose so much weight I became dangerously thin.

At the point I bought the dress, I was getting to the healthier side of thin – no longer were there jutting hip bones/ribs.

Post the days of the little black dress I got to my heaviest weight & started to feel very uncomfortable. No longer did I have the luxury of wearing whatever I wanted  & even the clothes that I could wear made me feel self-conscious; not just in public either – I hated being in my own skin in my pyjamas at home.

I have never had a good relationship with my body. Confidence was always below zero – I never felt comfortable or entirely happy even when I was at my, what would be deemed by society, “best”.

The airbrushed models that are now the face of every billboard, magazine & movie in the known world are no help to any normal person’s confidence. Wait on, did I say face? I meant body. They’re sexualising everything now, right? Who needs a face when you can just take off your clothes? Can you tell I have a problem with this…?

All of these things weighed on me when deciding to become a mother. If I had a boy, how could I teach him what a load of shit it all was & that women are actually normal with “flaws” that are their own & make them beautiful. How did I make sure he learnt enough respect that he never treated any girl the way so many men had treated me in my lifetime?

What if I had a girl? I cried at the prospect. I never wanted my little girl to ever feel the things I had felt. Being leered & jeered at by creeps that made my skin crawl. Feeling so conscious of every part of my body & making sure I was never inappropriate but also juggling wanting to feel attractive. For me it’s the most relentlessly horrible part of being a woman. The kicker being that it is entirely society’s fault & not my own. How did I let her know it was ok? How did I shower her with enough confidence that the constant barrage of images didn’t affect her but enough self-respect to be conservative…?

It was 4 days after Charli was born that I happened to glance in the mirror as I was getting out of the shower. Not interested in much else but sleep at that point I was shocked to see the state of my body. Seriously engorged breasts above a belly of jello & on that jello belly a mass of stretch marks that hadn’t made their presence known until after birth. My belly had been so tight at the end that there was no sign of them while I was still pregnant.

After the shock of “Is that me?” wore off I took a second look. I laughed to myself & got dressed. I went to my Husband & announced “I have quite bad stretch marks on the bottom of my belly, they’re actually tracked into my skin, not raised.” Ever the positive voice of my life, Jake straight away began with “It’s okay!” in a voice that dripped with sympathy & worry. I’m sure he would have continued to tell me why it was okay had I not stopped him in his tracks with my next sentence:

“I love them!”

My poor bemused Hubby done a few fish-mouth movements before smiling & finally toppling out a “That’s great!” I am sure that by this point my low self-esteem had become such a part of the relationship grind that a few moments of gaping at me were warranted.

I can’t tell you exactly what happened in my moments alone with the mirror but I can tell you that there was a wave of contentment & pride. I have never been more relaxed or happy in my own skin. I can confidently give society the finger & feel zero shame about my appearance. I want to get rid of the rest of the jello that still resides in my lower belly but for no one else but me & nothing more than to fit comfortably into my wardrobe.

There is only one thing in the entire world that I wish. That is for Charli to find the same contentment, confidence & respect for herself that it took me 25 years and a pregnancy to find. I hope she has a little black dress that she can wear without shame, stress or self-consciousness. I hope that I can give that to her in bucket loads of love & self-worth with a dash of confidence.

To all of you ladies out there that I know are fighting to find a love for their own bodies, post baby or not, I hope you find what I found in the mirror that day. Make yourself your own kind of perfect & be totally, unconditionally happy. For me, that’s rocking the hell out of these stretch marks this coming summer and for all of the seasons & years to follow.