Well, we’ve made it. My little one is a year old. Oh how this first year has flown by.

From the first moment I saw him on the handheld ultrasound machine, to now with him laying beside me smiling and giving me wet, slobbery baby kisses, I’ve unendingly adored him.

From his little squeaks and coos, to his angry cries, I love him.

From the stinky poops to the sweet smell of his breath, I love him.

From his twinkling curious eyes, to his ornery smirk and giggle, I absolutely love him.

Oh how wonderfully sweet it is to be a mom.

As I’m reflecting on the past year, my heart aches for my tiny little newborn. My little 8 pound baby with the scrunched up face and the biggest personality for being only a few hours old. I was instantly in love with my little man. His smile and laugh is worth every hard moment.

But oh how fun is it to have a one year old. He’s so fun to watch explore. He plays so hard all day long. He has favorite toys, favorite books, favorite shows and movies, favorite songs. He loves to go outside, and he loves playing in water. He’s getting really fast at climbing stairs, and he’s working on getting better at walking.

He is absolutely amazing and a humongous blessing from the Lord.

I’m going to be so real for a moment. As far as postpartum goes, I’m still a wreck. My belly is squishy and round, my arms are flabby, I have stretch marks all over my body. I’ve gained weight, my face is puffy and my clothes don’t fit well. My engagement and wedding ring don’t fit my finger anymore. I’m not happy with how my body looks. I’m depressed, I’m anxious, I’m jealous of all the moms who go back to their normal bodies fast. I miss my old self. I miss the small chested, size 6/8 jean wearing girl who was always able to find clothes that fit her.

I know, I know, my body did an amazing thing and built a whole baby. I know, I know, my body is still doing an amazing thing and has been feeding this baby for a whole year. He’s as big and strong as he is because of the sacrifices I’ve made.

That still doesn’t make the muffin top go away. And it’s so hard looking at myself in the mirror and not being critical about how I look. I hate my body. I hate how I look. I wish more than anything that I could go back to how I was before. But, the reality is that I probably never will fit in my old jeans again. I’ll probably never be able to wear a size small shirt ever again. Yeah, I’ll probably lose some weight, but my hips aren’t gonna magically go back to pre-birthing size. My boobs aren’t gonna go from a double D back to a A cup.

It’s so hard trying to accept that.

I don’t really have anything profound to say about my feelings towards myself other than I should be thankful for what my body did. Sometimes, things just are, and there’s not much we can do about them.

I will say though, I’ll never regret having a baby. Now that he’s here I couldn’t imagine a life without him. He’s the most precious little person in my life. And now my job isn’t to be a skinny young woman whose only care is too many cute clothes not enough money, it’s to be a loving and nurturing mother, no matter how my body looks.

I just think of that sweet smile and I forget for a moment about how I used to look. My focus is and needs to be, staying healthy and to raise an upstanding member of society.