Postpartum

Postpartum
I’m not who I once was
It’s been six weeks now
Those high waisted jeans folded neatly in a pile are calling my name, but we just don’t fit
I thought we would by now?
Shirts: I’ve had to donate a few
I didn’t anticipate how much they grew
I’m counting from four to eight and saying my b-c-d’s
This is my body now: “hi, nice to meet you”

No, I’m not who I once was
You’ve left your mark on me
Tell Tony the Tiger I’ve earned my stripes
I want them to go away, to have the flat spotless stomach like before
But then I remember you gave them to me
And I begin to see them as beautiful
Like the messy palette that’s left after painting a work of art

No, I’m not who I once was
Birth changes you and you’ll never be the same
It’s funny how your greatest joy suddenly follows your greatest pain
A child and a mother born on the same day
Can I tell you a secret?
I’d do it over again, seventy times over
If it meant I got you in the end

No, I’m not who I once was
Parts of me have died
Selfish parts, childish parts
They were hard to let go of, it took some time
But did I really want those to stay with me the rest of my life?
New things have been planted in their place, and I like these flowers better

I’m not who I once was
It’s been six weeks now
“You have the glow,” they told me
Well, this is the afterglow
(the light that remains in the sky after the sun has set)
No, I’m not who I once was
But I like myself better now