Rebecca Shamblin

My toddler’s recent preference for her father has gone from sub-textual to textual. She has no compunction about loudly pushing me away and requesting her dad instead. I’ve been reprimanded for even speaking to her on occasion — “Don’t talk to me, Mom! Don’t talk!”

I always secretly hoped that having a child would transform me into a more responsible person. I would be a mother! Mothers have excellent dental hygiene, and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables. Sure, I sucked at all that stuff before, but once I had a baby, things would get on track. I would set a good example for my child.

Could I really risk being unmedicated after so many years? Could I face that abyss of depression again while dealing with the influx of hormones and stress brought on by pregnancy? My memories of the darkest days are clear, even 20 years later.

This week I started my home-yoga routine . . .accompanied by my 20-month-old. I am starting to see why there are no “Mommy and Me Toddler Yoga” classes on the calendar.

I’ve wanted to be a mother my entire life, but always worried about my heart condition and whether I would be able to conceive. Finally, my chance was right in front of me. Finally, I had a real reason to lose weight. This wasn’t about the size label on my pants, or how I felt in a bathing suit. This was about the chance to create life.

I’ve struggled with my weight and self-esteem my whole life, and I want better for my daughter. She’s only a year and a half right now, but I am already doing everything I can to help her feel good about her body.

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget about one of the most intense experiences of my life. Sometimes when someone asks about my scar, I have to think for a moment before I can answer, “Oh, that! It’s from my open-heart surgery!”

“Definitely don’t be afraid to use a nipple shield,” I told a woman the other day. “Cracked nipples are the worst, let me tell you!”

If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.

I still feel exactly like me. A more tired me, granted, but still me. I am not overwhelmed by a love for her I could never imagine (which I somehow feel guilty about at times, which is why you should read blogs with caution). I love her dearly and unconditionally – just as I imagined I would. But that is also how I love my husband, my mother, my sister, etc.