My kangaroo pouch

"What's it like" they ask.

"remember when you were in your early teens and all of a sudden your body wasn't the one you knew?"

I recall looking in the dance class mirror one day, around 13 years old, and seeing this curvy figure in my leotard for the first time. I remember thinking: it happened! I'm starting to look like the beautiful women I look up to and the ones I see on TV and in magazines. I also recognized that day that I wasn't meant to be a ballerina. I loved my curvy new figure, and despite my passion for movement, I didn't think it would be appreciated in the dance arena.

That day, I decided to love my new body.

If you weren't going to appreciate it, dance community stereotype of my imagination, I wasn't going to participate in any kind of vulnerable way.

Narrow waist, big hips and a nicely shaped butt, I taught myself over the course of the next few years how to dress, I learned how to accessorize, and I knew how to shop. I'd walk into a store, see what they had to offer, pull some styles and pay and walk out. No trying on necessary, no second guessing on what looked good. I would get dressed in the morning and every day, matching each thing perfectly to the shape of my figure.

And to my fellow women, I would say:

Fuck the diets and self hate talk.

Be fanciful and free.

Be confident in your body, and that's all anyone will see.

And that worked for me.

Then one day, I looked in the mirror, and boom, that wasn't the body I remembered.

Instead of my ass being the largest and sexiest part of my body, here was this big belly.

And boy was it a thing of beauty.

I carried it well and up until the last 4 weeks of swelling, I felt like I had my same body just now shared with two little beings. I wore as much of my wardrobe as I could, and kept my same sense of fashion and freedom.

Then boom, it happened again, I'm 1 day post partum.

I had made my way to the bathroom solo. And after 3 days of labor and a c-section, getting to the bathroom was one of the longest and hardest walks I've made. I stood in front of the mirror, my two little bundles within eyeshot of the open door frame, my partner, sister and brother all opening take out containers of thai food cramped on the one little bench seat in my hospital room. My body was swollen now, belly deflated, and what I saw shocked me.

For the first time, I didn't see that beautiful body I had curated and cared for. I cried out, "I have the beer belly of a middle aged man!" and I burst into high hormone tears. My family cried back " You just carried twins for 9 months! Give it a minute!"

I've taken a lot of time to do self care, slowly making my way from a short irregular yoga practice at home, to a regular weekly practice in a studio, and just recently back into a strength training workout on an even more frequent basis. It has taken me a full 2 years to acclimate to this new body and learn to love it the same way I loved the ones before.

Just a few months ago, a friend of mine was about 9 months post partum and her husband answered the door when I arrived, looking very trim. I asked him why the sudden weight loss. He shared that he had lost weight doing Whole 30 as he realized he was living with a "dad bod."

2 years post partum, I turned to him and said "I'm still living with a dad bod."

Carrying twins to 38 weeks, I measured to 52 weeks pregnant if I had had 1 baby. I don't know if this extra belly skin will ever reabsorb itself back into my body

and I'm not sure anymore why that matters.

I've come to fondly calling it my kangaroo pouch.

Why do we value one type of body. Why do I talk big game about being body positive to turn around and spit fire on the body I've been given.

I am strong, I am beautiful and I am free. If I believe it, then thats all anyone else will.