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On Finding The Love For My Postpartum Body

The story of a pink dress, the postpartum body that it would never fit, and a new sense of love and acceptance for being larger and softer than before. Because my body is amazing and it deserves a dress that fits

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Afternoon Stories

A monthly letter about all things writing and creativity

Instagram

  • Whenever I am out and about with Ben the following exchange seems to happen, enough that it's stopped being funny. "Oh what a beautiful little girl! Boy? Girl. Boy. Girl? Boy? Boy. Girl? Girl. Boy?" I see the panic building in their eyes, the staccato voice getting higher as the words become less a question and more an uncontrollable nervous twitch. I try to help. "Child?" I suggest. "Person?" I think it's Ben's hair that confuses people. Red gold copper fire that I can't bring myself to cut. Because I'm not going to subject him to a process he would hate to make some random strangers feel more comfortable when playing guess the genitalia on the baby (which when you strip away the nonsense of gender is what that question is). So please stop trying to categorise my child or any child by a gender binary based on nonsense. Allow them a personhood that isn't defined by what organs they were or were not born with. Get comfortable with addressing children in gender neutral terms - "they" "them" "person" "people" "child". I deeply believe that this is the first step to accepting a child as the whole human that they are, free of expectation to be anything other than themselves. Plus you won't get a lecture on gender bullshit from me in the supermarket, so everyone is a winner!
  • Five months without a grid post, and there is so much on my mind that I have caption paralysis! So this post is a bit like ripping of a plaster, publishing something, anything, just to get the feel again. Peeking out from between the curtains. Or the bird hide in this case. . Over the past few months I've actually found a more natural fit on Stories, as it often feels more like a conversation and less of a broadcast (depending on how you do it of course). I'll be slowly seeping back into this grid over the coming weeks I think, but as always it will be at my own pace. I've been owning my introversion for a while, but I'm ready to be a bit more world-facing again.
  • The sweetest part of my day is watching him explore outside. We've been hit by so much seasonal lurgy round here that moving slowly has been a matter of survival, and there's nothing like gently trundling along in his wake as he potters around the garden to lift the spirits. Stomping on the crunchy leaves, watering plants (that really don't need watering but what can I tell you, he's the boss!), and poking into all the corners. Oh, and watching for trains. Don't believe anything the property programmes tell you, buying a house next to a railway cutting is a great investment for a toddler. He would stand by the gap in the hedge and wait for the Guildford commuter trains ALL DAY. The house was built next to the cutting in 1902, and every now and again as if to remind us of that heritage a steam engine comes thundering past. When that happened I thought he would explode with happiness. He is my son through and through. .. [Image description: A copper-haired toddler with big brown eyes is peeping through the bottom pane of a shed window]
  • Not sure who I was channeling when I took this picture. It feels a bit like a late 90s/early noughties album cover, from that time when actors were deserting TV soaps in droves to release mediocre pop singles. Full disclosure, thirteen year old Lizzy had a shrine to Adam Rickett on her bedroom wall comprised mostly of pages torn from Smash Hits magazine. Those were the days. . [Image description: Lizzy is sitting on the ground looking at the camera, wearing blue dungarees and looking a bit moody and introspective]
  • How do you create a home? What makes a space a home? For me it will always been a sense of slowness and peace. A space that has been allowed to grow and evolve over time, that has moulded itself around you and your family like an old, comfy sofa. Our home has been three years in the making now and it brings me so much joy. Creating a home together (and then bringing a small person into it) has been a test of our creativity and ingenuity, and I see our triumphs and our joys in every corner. We still have a lot of work to do. A lot of moth-eaten carpet to remove, old floorboards to restore, questionable paint choices to put right. But underneath the shabby covering is something that could be so magical, and I can't wait to get started again. [Image description: A white painted mantlepiece holding a green maranta plant, a small succulent, a brass plant mister, and a clock. A mirror framed in grey wood hangs above, reflecting a large bright window and a beige wicker lampshade.]
  • Staying still for photographs is never going to happen ever 😊 Nothing much to say for myself today. We have a big family-filled weekend ahead of us celebrating birthdays and catching up after a long time apart. This little scamp is going to have the time of his life running rings around his grandparents, and I might just get to sit down! Life is pretty good. Have an amazing weekend my loves, and I will catch you on the flipside. [Image description: Lizzy is standing on the pebble shoreline laughing and holding tightly to baby Ben, who is trying to escape.]
  • I had a little rant on Stories earlier in the week because I reviewed my MPs voting record and it made me want to break things. Against LGBT rights, against laws to promote equality and human rights, against measures to prevent climate change. It's enough to make anyone feel completely disillusioned with the whole system. The thing is, these are the times when those of us who can have to step up and work harder. My MP may be more like a shit cartoon villain, and is definitely not the person I want speaking on my behalf in Parliament, but like it or not he got the job. Now my job is to be a constant presence in his mailbox asking him to demonstrate the standard of humanity that I expect from my elected representation. For anyone else feeling the frustration and the fury with their elected representation, I see you. Let's hold on to each other, and let's get shit done. And let's all be as sassy as this sheep while we do it. [Image description: A white sheep is standing on yellow moorland grass, looking towards the camera. It's horns have been painted bright blue as identification, and it looks pretty cool.]
  • Fifteen months old. And just like that my baby is a toddler. With shoes that need to be put on, molars that need to be brushed, and fixed opinions about who is in charge of opening the front door. He even sometimes, sometimes *whispers SLEEPS THROUGH THE NIGHT. Sadly, after fifteen months and more of regular night waking, I have completely forgotten how to sleep for longer than four hours at a time. I think my record is six, tops. So I'm still knackered! Never mind sleep training for babies, I need the sleep training programme for adults. [Image description: A baby in an orange coat and blue hood sits on a grey pebble beach, pointing at the sea.]
  • Happy Monday everyone! How are you doing? Not so long ago I fell out of love with Instagram in a big way, and I couldn't work out why. I was following beautiful accounts packed full of inspiring images and incredible photography, my feed was a visual feast, and yet I wasn't loving it. I was showing up to engage with a few particular people and spending lots of time on stories, but feeling pretty meh about everything else. And as for posting, well, forget about it. But over the past month I've really found the love again. I want to hang out here again, and not just hang out but contribute. Over on my blog I have shared some of the things I did that reignited my love for the 'gram. Some of the "rules" for Instagram success may have been dented along the way 😊. [Image description: Looking down onto a wooden boardwalk over a shallow stream full of mossy green stones. At the bottom of the frame and standing on the boardwalk is a pair of legs in dark blue jeans and black leather boots.]
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