Body by Frank

My body betrayed me.  It failed my sweet boy.  As a mom, I am supposed to protect my child and I can't help blaming myself.  It's normal, I know, but that doesn't make it any less painful.  I remind myself that if I had had any control over it, Frank would be here now.  I would have died in his place if that had been an option.  I tell myself this but the guilt remains.

I've struggled with body image my whole life.  Most women can say the same, unfortunately.  But losing Frank made me absolutely hate my body.  Why didn't it do what it was supposed to do?  Then I think about the day Frank was born.  Going through labor and pushing my son out is and always will be my favorite memory with Frank.  That my body got right.

As my body returned to its pre-pregnancy state, I felt like I was losing pieces of him; like physical evidence of Frank's existence kept disappearing.   My breasts that were engorged with milk meant to nourish Frank had felt like another painful reminder that he was gone.  But when the milk dried up, I cried.  Most women would be thrilled to fit into their regular jeans within a few weeks of giving birth.  I cried.  Even the silliest thing, the mark on my hand where they put my IV...when it disappeared, I cried.

Now months after Frank was stillborn I'm still figuring out what size bra to wear.  After lamenting the changes in my chest--the stretched out skin and loss of mass--I finally realize that this is it: physical evidence of Frank that will last my lifetime.  My amazing little boy is helping me once again.  He is helping me learn to love the "flaws" in my appearance.