During my first pregnancy, I experienced a steady weight gain of 50 pounds, which was a significant shift for someone who had long been preoccupied with thinness. For nearly two decades, I battled disordered eating, viewed exercise as punishment, and perceived my body as larger than it truly was. I even spent four years of my teenage life addicted to weight loss pills while oscillating between binge eating and purging, convinced it was a trendy route to take.
Despite maintaining a very slim appearance, no one ever checked in on my well-being. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t okay.
The narrative changed when I became pregnant for the first time, as my body naturally gained weight to nurture my baby girl. My obstetrician was delighted with my weight gain; during my final prenatal visit, she playfully remarked that the extra “cushion” would facilitate an easier delivery. For the first time, I was gaining weight and receiving praise for it, a concept that was entirely foreign to me.
However, my second pregnancy unfolded differently. I hadn’t lost any weight when I became pregnant with my son. After obsessively attempting to shed pounds, I confronted my reflection one day, acknowledging my mom-bod, and decided to embrace my body as it was. I recognized the stretch marks, cellulite, and the so-called “mama pouch,” but more importantly, I remembered the miraculous feat my body accomplished: it had grown and delivered a child.
This realization pushed me toward self-acceptance. That was two years ago, and I have since embraced my plus-size body and moved past my disordered eating habits. Cue Lizzo’s “Good as Hell,” because that’s how I’ve been feeling!
Yet, my second round of prenatal visits brought new challenges. My new obstetrician, while kind, still seemed conditioned to focus on my size rather than my overall health. I disclosed my previous struggles with body image, hoping for a more nuanced approach, but still faced scrutiny regarding my weight.
For many years, I had inflicted harm upon myself under the guise of health, driven by the fear of becoming part of the “obesity epidemic” I had been taught to dread. Blood test results often appeared excellent, yet my doctor would insist on additional tests “just in case.”
When my son’s measurements suggested he might be in a higher weight and height percentile than my daughter, the assumption was that my size contributed to it. I was bombarded with unsolicited hospital communications about weight loss, “just in case.” Even after my glucose test returned negative, I was still provided with information on gestational diabetes “just in case.”
At each visit, despite my improving health, the same word always appeared on the paperwork under “Health Conditions Discussed”: “Obesity.” This single term overshadowed my progress and made me feel like I had to meticulously monitor my weight gain and remain constantly vigilant. The sight of that word was infuriating, making me want to scream out loud in frustration, but it also made me question my newfound body confidence.
The harsh reality is that I had been running from the term “obesity” ever since I heard it mentioned with fear on the news during my middle school days. I now realize that obesity isn’t a contagious epidemic—you cannot “catch” fat. Research increasingly indicates that the BMI system is outdated, and numerous individuals illustrate that good health can exist at various sizes.
It’s disheartening that society equates thinness with health and assumes larger bodies are inherently unhealthy. We must recognize that we are not a “one size fits all” species. During the sensitive experience of pregnancy and motherhood, can we not treat women’s bodies with equal respect, regardless of size?
Young Ava would have appreciated someone noticing the harm she was inflicting upon herself while striving for an unattainable thin ideal. And expectant mother Ava would have preferred to be acknowledged as the strong, healthy woman she had become.
I attribute my journey toward body acceptance as vital in alleviating the anxiety surrounding prenatal visits, allowing me to celebrate my second pregnancy without the burden of shame. In fact, growing my son felt surprisingly smooth. Time flew by as I engaged with my energetic toddler, climbing, playing, and laughing.
When my due date finally arrived, I labored for less than 12 hours, and with just three pushes, my son entered the world. I found humor in the moment; as “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen played, the entire birthing team danced while I welcomed my son into my arms. It was the perfect anthem for such a powerful experience.
I thrived during my pregnancy and delivery in a “medically obese” body, and that, dear readers, is undeniably significant. For further insights on pregnancy, I encourage you to explore this resource for more information on home insemination and related topics. Additionally, you can check out this article for further engagement and this authority on at-home insemination kits to learn more about the process.
Summary:
This article explores the author’s journey through two pregnancies in a plus-size body, detailing her struggles with body image, the impact of societal perceptions of obesity, and her path to self-acceptance. Emphasizing the importance of recognizing health beyond weight, the author advocates for a more inclusive understanding of women’s bodies during pregnancy.
Leave a Reply