Dear Uninvited Flap of Abdominal Skin That Emerged After I Gave Birth,
Oh, how I loathe you. To be honest, I’m not even sure how to categorize you—are you a “flap,” a “shelf,” or something far worse? Whatever you are, let’s just call you an absolute nuisance. At least my other bodily features didn’t make an unexpected entrance, turning into an unsightly bulge that I can’t seem to hide (thank goodness for that). Yet here you are, a constant reminder of my postpartum journey, and I am not happy about it.
I still remember the moment I first encountered you after my C-section. My fingers cautiously explored the unfamiliar landscape of my lower abdomen, and the sight of the swollen incision site was shocking. I foolishly thought that once it healed, the puffiness would subside. Oh, how naïve I was!
My little one is no longer a baby, Flap, yet you continue to linger on like an unwelcome guest at a party. I’ve made several attempts to embrace your presence, but every time I have to adjust you into my underwear or awkwardly reposition you like a misplaced accessory, my resentment flares up. No amount of empowering body image articles can change how I feel. The only uplifting I desire is a surgical lift to get rid of this bag of dough that’s taken up residence on my pubic bone.
Sure, I never looked like a swimsuit model before your arrival, but my post-baby belly didn’t need your assistance in looking like a chaotic mess. At least stretch marks can be concealed under clothing, but you? You seem determined to make sure everyone notices your presence. When I slip on my favorite yoga pants, I might as well wear a neon sign directing attention to that peculiar lump in the front. I find myself tugging at my T-shirt, worrying that people think, “Is that a camel toe?”
Just to add insult to injury, you’ve claimed a spot where I can’t even suck you in. You’ve compelled me to invest in a small fortune of uncomfortable shapewear. And let’s be clear—just because you’re somewhat concealed doesn’t mean you’re not there, lurking and waiting to spill out over my C-section scar like a beer belly over a snug belt.
Do you know how unsexy it feels to have to lift you up when I’m grooming down there? It almost feels pointless, like polishing a rock. To make matters worse, you’re often numb, which is just plain weird; the only silver lining is that it hurts less when I accidentally zip you into my jeans.
In short, I’m fed up with your antics. No one gave me a heads-up that you’d crash the party, and you were certainly not on the guest list. You’re like a lazy roommate who refuses to pay rent, just hanging out, and I can’t seem to exercise you away. I guess I’ll have to keep searching for longer tops and come to terms with your existence—for now. But mark my words: if I ever hit the jackpot, I’ll be rushing to the nearest plastic surgeon to evict you without mercy.
So be warned, because I’m off to buy a lottery ticket—or maybe ten.
Sincerely,
Me
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Summary
This humorous open letter expresses frustration and resentment towards the changes in the body after giving birth, specifically targeting the post-pregnancy belly flap. The author reflects on the challenges of adjusting to this new reality, the discomfort it brings, and the desire for surgical solutions while acknowledging the journey of motherhood.
Keyphrase: post-pregnancy belly flap
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