Dear Unwelcome Abdominal Flap That Emerged After My Childbirth,
I must express my deep frustration with you. To be honest, I’m not even sure how to label you. Is it a “flap” or a “shelf”? Perhaps there’s a scientific term I’m unaware of, but for now, let’s just refer to you as a nuisance. Yes, you’ve proven to be more bothersome than I could have ever anticipated, particularly because you appeared without warning and have become an awkward bulge that’s hard to conceal.
I vividly remember the moment I first encountered you post-C-section. As I gingerly touched my abdomen, I noted the swelling and foolishly believed it would diminish as my body healed. How wrong I was. My child has long since graduated from infancy, yet you remain stubbornly present, an unsightly reminder of my experience. Despite my attempts to accept your existence, every time I have to adjust or tuck you away, it’s a painful reminder of how much I dislike you.
No amount of positive body image articles can change my reality. The only “uplifting” I desire is the kind that could come from a skilled surgeon. I may not have looked like a swimsuit model before your arrival, but my post-pregnancy figure certainly didn’t need your assistance in becoming more chaotic. At least stretch marks can be discreetly covered; you, however, demand attention. When I slip into my favorite yoga pants, it feels like I’m walking around with a neon sign directing everyone’s gaze to the peculiar lump in the front. I can’t help but fidget with my shirt, worrying that onlookers are silently questioning what they see.
Your placement is infuriating; it’s as if you deliberately chose a spot where I cannot simply suck you in. This has led me to invest in uncomfortable shapewear that does little to hide your presence. Even when I manage to conceal you, I know you’re lurking, ready to make your presence felt again. It’s a frustrating battle, one that often results in me feeling defeated and resigned to your existence.
Not to mention the practical difficulties you create during everyday tasks—like grooming. Lifting you up to shave feels utterly pointless, and the numbness you exhibit only adds to the strangeness of our relationship. At least it’s somewhat comforting to know that the pain of being caught in a zipper is lessened by your unusual sensation.
In conclusion, I am weary of your antics. No one warned me of your arrival, and you certainly weren’t invited. You linger like an uninvited guest, and despite my efforts to exercise and embrace a healthier lifestyle, you refuse to budge. I’ll continue searching for longer shirts to hide you away, but should fortune smile upon me, I won’t hesitate to seek a surgical solution.
So, brace yourself, because I might just buy a lottery ticket or two.
Sincerely,
Me