Avigail Hurvitz-Prinz

Avigail Hurvitz-Prinz (37 - she/her) and Baby Y (7 mo - they/them)

Philadelphia, PA {Virtual session captured via CLOS}

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

The process of TTC, being pregnant, birthing and nursing are so deeply physical and embodied. There were parts of all of it that were incredibly powerful and magical (wow the placenta! labor and birth! and human milk!) and parts of it that were so disorienting, anxiety-provoking, and hard. I served as a vessel for this new, incredible human and though they aren't in my body anymore, I still am responsible for most of their milk and nourishment. The pride I feel in watching them grow is so gratifying but it is also extremely challenging to have lost so much of my physical autonomy. Though it isn't factually true, it can feel like I'm either nursing or pumping or trying to feed myself enough to make it thru my next few hours -- so my body just is rarely my own.

Though now, 7 months after our birth experience, I'm back in clothes I was wearing before I got pregnant, they all look a little different. It is especially confusing to figure out what my thoughts about my body are and to encounter my fatphobia. I feel conflicted about how gratified I feel to be back in my old clothes, to sort of recognizing myself in the mirror after 2 years of really rapid body changes while also knowing that my body is softer, lumpier, and just different than it used to be. A friend of mine said about her postpartum body "well, that's not where I remember leaving that!" My big-before-pregnancy breasts grew even more than I would have thought imaginable and it has been hard for me to feel connected to them. They're still bigger than the baby's head, they're physically unwieldy and it takes a lot of psychic work to not experience them as grotesque, I have back pain I didn't have before pregnancy and it was quite a struggle to find supportive nursing bras.

I try to practice being proud of what my body can do and less focused on what I've lost but it really isn't easy. I feel the strongest (47 hours of unmedicated labor!) and the most vulnerable (I almost died!) I've ever been at the same time. That seems to be a pretty common experience of birthing people, but, damn if it isn't hard to integrate!

What was your postpartum experience?

My labor was 47 hours and I had a beautiful homebirth with my incredible midwife, Ray Rachlin of Refuge Midwifery (I am beyond grateful for their life-saving care). Because of a hemorrhage and retained placenta, I had an emergency transfer to the hospital for blood transfusions and a D&C. Though perhaps it was technically my birth experience, I often separate the two experiences and think about my two days in the hospital as the beginning of my postpartum journey. I was pretty sick, having lost more than half of my blood by the time I got into surgery. One of my two partners met me in the hospital later that night with the baby (my other partner and co-parent needed to stay home because of limits on visitors during COVID-19). Needless to say, it was a pretty challenging start having been separated from my family in an emergency and not being reunited as the family we were meant to be until 2 days after the birth.

I was physically very limited the first 6 weeks or so and emotionally also really struggled. My milk was slow to come in, we were juggling co-lactation with one of my partners who induced lactation (which was amazing, but also was stressful for each of us in different ways) and I was coping with really raw trauma. I feel lucky to be co-parenting with my two partners B and S, my parents were nearby for part of that early time, many friends and community members dropped off meals and I went to therapy and hypnosis, folks were very kind, especially virtually.... and it was still one of the hardest experiences of my life. I remember fearing that I'd never feel connected to this new baby, feeling so much guilt about the separation that we endured for the 6 hours I was in surgery and before my partner B was able to bring the baby to me in the hospital. A major theme for me at the time was feeling like a baby myself while also somehow being responsible for this new being who I variously loved and felt completely trapped by.

During that early period, it became really challenging for me to imagine leaving the bed even when I was physically ready. Around 6 weeks, being challenged by my therapist Regina who said, in the kindest way possible, that even though it was scary, I was going to keep regressing the longer I stayed. That day I went downstairs and outside for the first time since the socially distanced baby naming & brit ceremony we'd hosted on day 8 and it was *hard*. But she was right, and it was the beginning of the end of my postpartum depression. Because my recovery was so hard I delayed going back to work by a month which was also a major conflict -- but it was evident that I just wasn't well enough to be back at work. I'm still experiencing trauma reactions and some physical pain, though both are much more manageable and contained. We have therapy now as a family, have set up some rituals for marking important moments of transition. It will always be true that a baby's birthday is also the anniversary of my near-death experience and I feel more and more able to separate those experiences from each other and have more people in my life to talk to about how deeply complicated that is.

I'm blessed enough to also feel good, to be back at work, enjoying parenting a very charming kiddo in a very fun stage, and to be in loving relationships (we just celebrated 3 years of our triad!)

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

There is no control over any of this (if and when you get pregnant, when you'll give birth, how that birth will go, who your baby will be, how the milk will flow, how they'll develop). The most you can do is set it up and then allow the magic -- and it is magic -- to unfold in its own time.

How has your (pregnancy/birth/postpartum/parenting) been affected by COVID-19?

In so many ways! I really missed the experience so many people have of being witnessed and admired in pregnancy and felt a lot of grief about that. There was a lot of anxiety for us about safety as I was pretty newly pregnant while the early pandemic unfolded.

It is still regularly painful to have such intense negotiations about safety with our loved ones and there are many people who are important to us who have yet to hold the baby because of the pandemic. And, I felt lucky, in a certain way, that we had this incredibly transformative, very special life change in a time when so many people were feeling so little to be hopeful about.

The way the pandemic really focuses attention and intensifies what's happening on the homefront is maybe what happens in late pregnancy and early postpartum anyway! And being able to work from home and hang out with the baby or nurse in my breaks is really special (though much harder when I can hear them crying while I'm trying to do my own thing).

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

Seeing people tell vulnerable stories and show their real bodies has helped me feel much less alone in one of the most difficult times of my life. I really admire the folks who have participated so far and appreciate the chance to find my place among them.

Gail Babes

Gail Babes (40 - she/they) and Vida Ruth (18 weeks)

Seattle, WA {Virtual FaceTime Session}

“I had a short chemical pregnancy after my first attempt trying to get pregnant. I was surprised by how clear it was to me that I was pregnant. My breasts became immediately tender and swollen in a way I had never experienced prior. I found out I wasn't pregnant on the first night of Passover. I had prepared myself for this possibility as most of my friends and close family members had experienced some sort of pregnancy loss. The preparation helped me try again and personally reconfirmed that I would share my pregnancy early with close connections so that I would have a support system if a subsequent loss occurred.

How has parenthood impacted your body image? 

I struggled for most of my life with a negative body image thinking I was never thin or fit enough. Like most folks raised as girls, I placed the value of my body on how sexually attractive it was to others. I cognitively knew how unhealthy this was, yet even as I aged I was unable to dismantle the narrative, easily spiraling into negative self-talk. When I became pregnant everything changed for me. I found my growing body beautiful and was in awe of its innate ability to create life. I decided to publicly document my newfound body confidence and related fashion sense in photography to share with others. Giving birth was the most powerful thing I have physically ever done. Coming out of my fourth trimester, my postpartum body is different, softer in many ways, but I revere it for what it did and the ongoing nourishment it provides my child.

What was your postpartum experience? 

Three weeks after giving birth and feeling otherwise healthy, I had a massive hemorrhage and seizure due to a retained piece of placenta requiring four blood transfusions. Immediately after the emergency surgery, I became overwhelmed with the idea that I had almost died. The OB on call was an incredible female doctor who helped me re-frame the moment as experiencing a life-threatening event - one that they were well-versed to handle. I spent the remainder of my fourth trimester feeling not only grateful to be alive, but to have entered the ER weeks before Seattle became the first US epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic. In the days that followed, I benefited from having two incredibly skilled night doulas care for us, especially as the COVID-19 gripped our city and other forms of physical support disappeared.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent? 

I pride myself at being competent, confident and fully independent. I crafted a world where my closest friends are all over the United States - which was very jetset cool. When I decided to have a baby, primarily on my own, I clearly never envisioned having to care for a baby in the midst of a pandemic. In hindsight, I would have told my former self to have built a more local support system where I could have formed a pod with family members willing and able to help me.

How has your (pregnancy/birth/postpartum/parenting) been affected by COVID-19?

The pandemic took away the bucolic vision I had of my postpartum time off. The plan had been for three of my best friends and family members fly to Seattle to support us. I had also envisioned my final month of parental leave where Vida and I would have traveled to Hawaii. Instead, the pandemic took away my planned support system within weeks and it created new challenges in living 24-7 with my boyfriend and his son. Our collective home is now an office and school. My extroverted self misses people desperately and since I am not an essential worker, my planned return to work as a consultant is up in the air since I can't hire in-home care for my infant.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story? 

As a queer Jewish and older person trying to have a baby primarily on my own, I found inspiration in other people's stories and felt inspired to do the same.

Casey

Casey (32 - they/them) and Adrian (2)

Minneapolis, MN

How has parenthood impacted your body image? 

Because I am trans (non-binary), I knew pregnancy would be a massive challenge for me in terms of body image. I didn't even know how I would dress/present myself to the world, given the inundation of gendered stereotypes that come with a pregnant person's experience. Although I felt like I was agreeing to sort of willingly stifle my own gender identity journey in many ways for that time period because of the sheer lack of resources to support folx like me, it was also an experience I had always wanted to have. Holding those two things at once was delicate, often times devastating and dysphoric, but also incredibly beautiful and affirming.

I went from not wanting to chestfeed at all to somehow figuring it out with Adrian and ultimately chestfeeding him for 2 years and 3 months. It was a meaningful experience which, now that it is over, I'm really proud of myself for doing. It was excruciating and also eye-opening all at once. Having my body "back" now, in a sense, has left me feeling more empowered about the fact that my trans body is valid and incredible, and I have more confidence in my own body in a way I have truly never felt before. I'm super proud to be trans and even more empowered now in standing in my truth and knowing that I'm not cisgender. I want to emphasize very clearly that my experience isn't reflective of every trans person's experience - I know most people know that, but I want it to be out there. Everyone's experience truly is valid, and I obviously have privilege in ways others don't. I'm excited to see where this journey of gender identity and body empowerment takes me. Most importantly, I am so, so grateful for the privilege of being Adrian's parent. He is my greatest joy and is such an amazing human.

What was your postpartum experience?

My conception/fertility journey was long and exhausting, and I relate to many others who have gone through that struggle. When I finally conceived, I didn't want to believe it, because it seemed so far from possible at that point. The world of infertility often seems so isolating, because those who haven't experienced it naturally can't understand how devastating and excruciating that process can be. It was like being thrust into an entirely different social group with all these new terms and medical processes. As a queer/trans person, I also faced a lot of very blatant discrimination when it came to fertility treatments when compared to cisgender/straight people going through the exact same processes that I did. The health care system simply isn't set up to assist folx like me, and it was a challenging time. The amount of advocacy a pregnant person has to do in order to get truly patient-centered care was alarming to me.

I experienced precipitous labor, which is an abnormally fast birth. The onset of contractions and the ways that labor presents do not follow what you expect of a "typical" birth (whatever that means!), and it was really frightening and confusing - and indescribably painful. It felt like one long, never-ending contraction, and I couldn't breathe or truly even understand that I was having a baby in that moment. I had a lot of people tell me afterwards that I was "lucky," but to be honest, it was incredibly traumatic, both physically and mentally. I was 10cm dilated by the time I got to the hospital. I gave birth on my hands and knees thanks to the assistance of my midwife, and having had that experience and knowing what it feels like, I cannot believe we essentially force folx in labor to do anything other than what their bodies are telling them to do in that moment.

In the end, I still wonder how so many people who have given birth talk about it like it's a single moment in time, and often the comments we hear in everyday life make it seem like birth isn't actually really traumatic on one's body. It's a major event. When we talk about "postpartum," I absolutely love the idea of a 4th trimester, because for me, the physical and emotional effects of pregnancy and giving birth still linger over two years later and have forever changed me. I always find others' birth stories to be amazing, and exchanging birth stories with others has been so helpful in my own journey of healing. I hope we can move towards normalizing conversations about both the good and traumatic parts of pregnancy/birth/parenthood - and to stop regulating each others' bodies when it comes to these massively personal experiences and decisions.

What is your truth? 

I think everyone faces trauma and stigma and judgment, and everyone has things about them that make them experience shame. We have a culture that is designed to reinforce certain ideas as "normal" or "acceptable." We tend to want to silence people who challenge our long-held viewpoints, and we have a really hard time listening when marginalized folx are sharing their stories about their own experiences, especially when it comes to birth, gender presentation and parenting. I want that to change. I just want to emphasize how important it is to know that you do not have to follow anyone else's idea of beauty, of body "standards," of how you present yourself in terms of your gender or any other identity, or of how you should love or how you should parent or how you should move about the world. Our bodies are incredible - they are our OWN bodies to claim, not anybody else's - and our voices matter. Nobody should feel pressured to have children, to not have children, to feel criticized about their bodies, or to feel like they have to hide their experiences of loss and grief. I truly believe that the way to chip away at this stigma is to continue to share our own stories and show those who can't do so, for so many valid reasons, that they are not alone and that others feel the way they do, too.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story? 

I have long been supportive of this project, and I would scroll across a trans person and their story and I would think, "They are so brave. I could never be that vulnerable." But I realized how powerful that vulnerability and visibility is, and I wanted to stand in solidarity with those parents, because I know what a struggle all of this can be. They inspired me. We exist, but we're often excluded entirely from conversations around pregnancy, birth, reproductive rights and parenting. I think that sometimes the most amazing thing we can do for our little ones is to stand firmly and unapologetically in our own truths and identities so that one day, they can have their own individual voices about their own powerful and beautiful stories. I am truly grateful for every single human (especially those in our little 4TB group) who has stepped up to share their personal, painful, and really courageous stories with all of us through this project, and I am honored to add my voice to it. 

Elizabeth and Nicole Russell

Elizabeth Russell (35 - she/her). wife Nicole Russell (35 - she/her) and Emmett (5.5 months - they/them)

New Mexico | Maryland

Elizabeth shares -

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

I have a trauma history dating back pretty far and from that an eating disorder that I thought wrecked my body and ability to have children. Before having my son I always looked at my body with a lot of fear but, now, post birth, I'm able to simply observe my body and be amazed at the life it has created. I have a cesarean scar and a postpartum pouch right now, but that's not where my focus goes. Instead I see the part of my body that carried my son, with wonder and grace.

What was your postpartum experience?

Initially everything sort of flowed. I healed from my cesarean fairly seamlessly and I was able to navigate new mom-hood with my wife without too many issues. I wasn't expecting the anxiety I started to experience when I returned to work, or needing to take medication for it, however. Thankfully I'm pretty aware of my own internal state so I didn't go months with this anxiety that had me leaving work immediately, but it is still hard to accept that that was help I needed.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent? 

Your own childhood does not define your ability to be a parent or your capacity to meet your child’s needs.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

Bodies are fucking amazing and the fact that my body grew and housed such an fascinating little human is something I will always be most proud of.

Nicole shares -

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

One of my first memories is a 3-year-old me thinking that I was fat. I have always judged my body and developed an eating disorder partly because of my dissatisfaction, and spent much of my early-mid twenties in and out of treatment. In 2011, I was in a serious car accident that left me with an abdominal scar, and another surgery scar was added in 2015. My body’s ability to heal fascinated me and gave me a bit of a different perspective.

While I still don't love my body, the older I've gotten, the less important it is to be "perfect." My wife loves me as I am and Emmett doesn't care what my body looks like. Being a good mom is more important than worrying about my body's scars and imperfections. Somehow, I don’t feel the same pressure I felt in my twenties to have a perfect body. Plus, the amount of effort and time it took to obsessively restrict my food and lose weight 10-15 years ago just wouldn’t be possible now.

It's important for me to not pass on body image issues to Emmett because I don't ever want him to judge himself the way that I've judged myself. I want to teach him that his body is amazing and his own.

What was your postpartum experience?

While I didn't physically carry Emmett, adding a new member to the family is a big adjustment. The three of us were home together for 12 weeks and it was great to spend that time together, but then Sarah went back to work and we went back to “real life.” I've sometimes gotten down on myself for not being able to calm Emmett fast enough, or wondered if I'm doing a good job.

I've always wanted to be a mom but didn't carry, and occasionally feel a bit jealous that my wife's DNA is a part of him. Sometimes I worry that the connection between me and Emmett won't be as strong because we're not biologically related, but then he smiles at me with his big eyes and I know that he knows I'm his mom.

I'm the stay at home parent and sometimes (or a lot of the time) it's exhausting taking care of a tiny person! Emmett is a loud baby and is in a squealing/screaming stage. I’m a quiet person who gets overwhelmed with noise so I need time to myself some days. It’s ok - and healthy - to not LOVE being a parent 24/7. It’s not always fun but I'm so glad this is our family now.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

It's definitely okay to not have all the answers! Google is not always your friend and will only make you paranoid as a new parent. Mistakes happen - you'll bump your kids' head on something or accidentally cut his finger with nail clippers - but it's somehow a weird rite of passage.

It’s also okay to not be totally happy with your body, but live life anyway! I wasted so much time trying to achieve the impossible. There was always something to change before I could be satisfied. Looking back, there was nothing wrong with my body then.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

I wanted to participate as a challenge to myself and to capture our family right now. When I read others’ stories and see their pictures, I only see their positives. Being vulnerable is terrifying but it’s ultimately what connects us as humans.

It's also important for others to see LGBTQ+ families who look just like everyone else. Some people have demonized the LGBTQ+ community but we're just like them; we just happen to love a little differently.

Megan MacTurk

Megan MacTurk (32 - she/her) and Kieran (19 mo)

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

For most, if not all, of my life, I was considered “skinny” by society’s standards, which meant I had a level of privilege when it came to body image - and my family never let me forget it. I grew up hearing a lot of comments from other women in my family, such as, “I’ve never been that small in my life,” Be happy that you didn’t inherit my body shape,” and “Enjoy eating whatever you want while it lasts,” along with other disparaging comments about their own body image. So, while I knew that I possessed privilege in this area, I also felt a level of guilt for having the body that I did and fear that, if it changed or got bigger, my self-worth would somehow diminish.

When my wife and I chose to use medical assistance to help us get pregnant, I was put on fertility medication and after a failed round of IVF with our first donor, my body was left bruised and bloated. But, once I became pregnant, I really loved how I looked as my belly grew and had extreme gratitude for my body and its ability to grow another human without any serious complications. I promised myself that, after I gave birth, I would be patient with my body and not put pressure on myself to lose weight or “bounce back.”

Then, a major injury occurred weeks after giving birth that left me immobile for three months, which impacted my weight and strength. Now, 19 months after giving birth, I’m struggling to balance the gratitude I have for my body, while also feeling like I’m not in my own body anymore. Discovering my new identity as a mother has also meant discovering this new body that came with it. I’m so proud that I grew life, was able to give birth without medication, and worked hard to heal after my injury.

It’s important to me that my daughter grows up with a healthy body image, and my wife and I will be the models of that. I’m trying to give myself the time and space to reflect on my relationship with my body image throughout my life and the subconscious pressures I felt growing up, along with the new pressures society places on postpartum bodies.

What was your postpartum experience? 

Between childbirth classes and the knowledge our doula shared with us, my wife and I felt mostly prepared for life after childbirth. I knew that I would be limiting physical activity as my body recovered, my wife would be taking care of the needs around the house, and my job was to rest and provide nourishment for our baby. But I wasn’t prepared for how that would impact my mental and emotional health. My daughter’s elbow got stuck as I was pushing her out, which resulted in a unique tear – I’ll never forget hearing the midwife say, “Wow, she really dug a rut in you,” as she sewed me up. I was in a lot of pain and discomfort. Walking looked like waddling, I couldn’t stand up without help, and using the restroom was terrifying. I despised my lack of independence. Between healing, the postpartum hormonal changes, and the new reality of parenthood, I spent a lot of time questioning myself and my abilities.

It took 6 weeks until I began feeling like myself again, physically and emotionally. The tear was finally healed, the baby was exclusively breastfeeding, and I truly felt like I was starting to get the hang of being at home with this new little life. Then, when my daughter was 7 weeks old, I tripped while carrying her and fell. Luckily, I was able to hold onto her as we stumbled, and she didn’t fall out of my arms until we landed. Even though we were already close to the ground, I’ll never forget the sight and sound of watching her little body hit the floor, and her immediate wails. As we fell, I felt my ankle breaking. I had broken all three bones and tore the ligament in my left ankle. My ankle is now held together by two plates, 11 screws, and a prosthetic ligament.

We immediately moved in with my mom, where we had help from her, my mother-in-law, and other family and friends. We stayed there for over 3 months as I recovered. I was immobile for quite some time and needed help doing absolutely everything, including bathing and getting on and off of the toilet. The frustration I felt when needing help after giving birth was now tenfold. On top of that, I felt helpless as a parent. Our daughter cried a lot in her first few months, and nursing was sometimes the only thing that helped soothe her. However, I was on much-needed pain medication, which prevented me from breastfeeding. Suddenly, I was writing in pain from my broken bones, while also desperately trying to pump to keep my milk in. Hearing my new baby scream from hunger and frustration, and not being able to do anything about it, broke my heart. I tried getting her to breastfeed again once I was off of the medication with the help of a lactation consultant. I was waking up every 2 hours to pump for 30 minutes at a time, we did skin-to-skin time again, and my mother-in-law even drove us to a breastfeeding support group while I was still on crutches to help get her back on the breast. I had looked forward to breastfeeding while pregnant, and I expected to breastfeed for some time; I wasn’t prepared to have that taken away so soon and so suddenly. But, after barely two weeks being bottle-fed and a month of trying to rebuild our breastfeeding relationship, my daughter had given clear signs that she was not going to be returning to breastfeeding, and I dedicated myself to pumping as frequently as I could.

While my wife and I were extremely thankful that our daughter wasn’t hurt in the accident and for all of the help we received during that time, those three months were extremely difficult for our family. We went through so much to get our daughter here, and then we felt like we missed out on so many parenting experiences during my recovery time. I had to relearn how to be a stay-at-home parent with limited mobility. I also developed anxiety about Kieran’s safety and well-being after we fell, which I’m still dealing with today. After having one of my worst fears as a parent come true, it made me realize how many things could “go wrong” at any moment. While most of the physical impacts of the accident are faded, the mental and emotional ones are still very present.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

Parenting is weird. Suddenly, you’re responsible for this little life and the weight of that often times feels unbearable and overwhelming. For a period of time, you’re consumed with the bodily functions of another person, while possibly going through major bodily changes yourself. Be gentle with yourself.

Fuck what other people tell you; everybody is the perfect parent until they’re actively parenting. It’s ok to not be ok, truly. While our society puts so much pressure on people to stay pregnant and give birth, very little support and understanding is often afforded to those just born and those who gave birth or are a new parent. But you deserve that support and understanding. Even more so, you deserve the love.

Pay close attention to how you speak to yourself. If you wouldn’t say it to your child, don’t say it to yourself. We’re always teaching, even when we don’t realize it. Oh, and whether you need to hear this or not: you're doing great.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

As a queer parent, and as somebody who went through a physical trauma during my postpartum experience that left residual emotional and mental scars, I appreciate the many different voices represented in this movement. Parenthood can feel very isolating, especially with false portrayals on social media. But I appreciate people bearing it all (literally and figuratively) in this movement and sharing their experiences because it has allowed me to connect to their stories. For me, it builds a sense of community that I didn’t even know I needed, even though I don’t know any of these people personally. Seeing bodies that look like mine and that have been through similar experiences as mine has helped me reconnect with my own body.

Johnny Blazes

Johnny Blazes (35 - they/them). Parent to Hazel Glory (10 mo) and Juniper Simone “Juno” (would be 2)

Boston, MA

“My first daughter, Juno, was born full-term in January of 2018. Due to complications during labor, she suffered severe brain damage and lived for six days in the NICU before dying peacefully in our arms. We had a beautiful, musical memorial service for her with a few hundred friends, colleagues, students, and family in attendance -- and I was forever changed by seeing how much love a six-day-old baby could inspire in a community who never got to meet her in person.

I also had an elective abortion when I was 21. I know for sure that it was the right choice for me and my then-partner. It was excruciatingly sad and difficult, and also true to what we needed and wanted. We both have amazing, beautiful children now at the right and perfect time in our lives.

How has parenthood impacted your body image? 

I’ve always prided myself on being body-positive. I work at a circus school where we go out of our way to make every person feel welcome and to celebrate athletic accomplishment and artistry at every level and with every body shape, gender, and ability. And I still find myself struggling to extend love and grace to myself as I learn about my new body shape, my new abilities or limitations.

Where do you put the waistline of your pants? Above the extra belly skin? Below it? Aah! I feel confused and frustrated about how there’s such a lack of clothing that looks and feels good for people who’ve had babies when there are so many of us. Sometimes I feel bad about how I look, and then I feel angry at myself for feeling bad. I want my daughter to always believe that she’s beautiful, and I want my mother to believe that she’s beautiful, and so I feel I must work to recognize my own.

I also feel powerful and proud and infinite. Making a baby and then birthing her is unbelievable. I’ve done it twice and it still boggles my mind. I look at other gestational parents with awe now all the time. I’m working on remembering to be awe-inspired by myself.

What was your postpartum experience? 

The birth and death of my first daughter was obviously emotionally traumatic, but it also caused a great deal of physical trauma. I had nerve damage in one leg that made it so I couldn’t walk, my sacrum was misaligned and caused back pain the radiated further and further up my spine each week, and I had a long healing process of my vulva and perineum because of multiple episiotomies and damage from ventouse. And still, it *felt* like I recovered more quickly the first time than the second. Within a few months I was exercising, regaining strength and confidence, feeling my core come back online. I got pregnant again 6 months after Juno’s birth, and stopped measuring what it meant to be “postpartum”, since I was now at the beginning of a process again.

My labor with Hazel was the diametric opposite to my first labor. She came quickly, and I felt safe and in control (as much as one can be in labor!) I had no tearing, no interventions, and I was up and walking right away. I felt so powerful - at first.

And then, as the months wore on and the excruciating pain in my neck and shoulders traded off with my spine traded off with my hamstrings and my core seemed like a blobby mess that wouldn’t pull its weight so I was constantly in back pain and carrying a baby means no time for getting stronger and why wasn’t I losing the weight I had gained like last time and why was it so much harder this time and how much do I hate/love/hate nursing and how much do I hate when people ask me how many children I have and watching their face fall when I say, “I have two kids, but my first daughter died at six days old, so this is the first one who came home with us” and what a gift my first daughter gave me of teaching me how resilient I am and wow this is totally unfair and wow I need to have more patience and grace with myself…

So yeah. My postpartum experience is still ongoing. Just this week, I’m feeling more hopeful. I’ve stopped chestfeeding, and despite the occasional pang of guilt, I feel awesome about it. Today I accomplished some aerial skills I haven’t done in literal years. Everything still hurts. But writing about the vastness of what my body has done in the last two years feels good.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

Being a parent is awesome. Even when it’s hard and exhausting and frustrating, even when it totally sucks. Be brave, be open to delight.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story? 

I was really moved when I found this project. There are so few spaces that are truly welcoming to gestational parents who are not “mothers” “moms” “mamas”. I’ve gotten very good at code-switching, and for the most part it’s really fine. But what a relief to be able to write about myself and my experience, and not feel like my genderqueerness needs to be defined or defended or advocated for. To be actively welcomed into postpartum community and feel seen is so rare.

Looking at the images of the parents who’ve been part of this project so far, I feel love and inspiration, admiration and pride in all of the bodies and stories. Every belly is beautiful, every stretch mark, every bit of skin and fat and muscle and wrinkle and smile. I want to be part of that chorus, and to see myself through that lens, that context. See my superhero’s cape revealed by standing amongst the powerful and beautiful, the parents.

Caitlin MacIntyre

Caitlin MacIntyre (30 - she/her) and Rafferty (5)

Houston, TX

“The month prior to conceiving Rafferty I had an early miscarriage. It was technically a "chemical pregnancy" which I feel like isn't seen as a real pregnancy or loss, but after struggling with infertility and wondering if I'd ever be able to get pregnant, it was super devastating and I couldn't get out of bed for days. I had already imagined an entire life from the moment I saw those two lines. It felt like yet another failure of my body after the endless heartbreak and frustration that my PCOS had caused, even though I knew logically that wasn't true. We had told a lot of people in our families as soon as we found out, since everyone knew we were trying, and then we had to tell them and our donor that I was actually not pregnant anymore. I couldn't bear to talk to anyone about it, so my partner did all the calling and explaining and shielded me completely from everything, but I know that made her own grieving process more difficult. She was, and always has been, the best partner in everything. I was so relieved to get pregnant right after, but where the first pregnancy had been pure joy and elation and unfettered optimism, it was really hard for me to just be happy and trust we were going to get a baby after losing the first pregnancy. Fortunately, our little Raffe made sure I vomited well into the second semester so I would know he was there before I started to be able to feel him moving around. ;)

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

It's been a long time since I've had any self-consciousness about the way my body looks. I think my body is beautiful and I think it has been beautiful in all its iterations. All the women in my family have this body-- a lot of the people I love look this way, and I think we're all spectacular. When I was trying to get pregnant I did a super intense Paleo diet to try to regulate my hormones--essentially I was eating nothing that I liked eating and a lot of times eating nothing at all because I couldn't find convenient food that was compliant, but was willing to do anything for a baby. I lost a TON of weight and looked almost unrecognizable to myself. Everyone always commented on how amazing I looked, and how much weight I'd lost, which was not a compliment, since I felt like I wasn't living in my real body, it was just this temporary form while I maintained this ridiculous, restrictive, and honestly, disordered eating, and clearly it was the one people thought was better.

But I did eventually get pregnant, and I LOVED that experience. I loved a little human inside of me. I felt radiant and amazing and just ecstatic. I had a great birth and breastfed Raffe for over 3 years, which I also absolutely loved, and then when he weaned I gained all the weight back and then quite a bit. My body is the biggest its ever been by far and I think I look beautiful and sexy. I love seeing the ways carrying and feeding him have impacted and changed and left marks on my body, and I also feel really myself and really comfortable with my body in this form. I also appreciate it so much for doing all the hard work, and it was hard for my poor cystic ovaries, to give me Rafferty.

Parenting has also made me more intentional in thinking about my body --to talk frankly and with affection about my body and the way it looks to my son and also just in general to the people around me, for my son to see that I think my body is great and for him to hopefully learn to love his body and see the beauty in the diversity of bodies around him. Unfortunately, I definitely have struggled a lot with institutionalized fatphobia in a much bigger way in this larger body (even as a small fat with quite a lot of size privilege) and that has made for a lot of challenges and frustrations and heartache in my ongoing infertility struggle.

What was your postpartum experience?

I had a magical (and intense) labor and birth at home in the water. I felt so loved and supported by my birth team--my amazing midwife, my mom, my sister, and my partner. When I dreamed of what my birth would look like, the reality ended up pretty darn close. I felt powerful and strong and so at peace after he was born. I had a great postpartum adjustment. My partner, Jennifer, was amazing at supporting me. I didn't leave the bed aside from bathroom trips for a full week (except to visit my new nephew- my sister who was at my birth went into labor the day after me)-and I was able to heal and choose when I wanted to do more at my own pace. Jennifer even facetimed me from the closet so I could pick Rafferty's outfits without getting out of bed.

Breastfeeding went very smoothly aside from a bout of mastitis a few months in, and we adjusted to side lying nursing and co-sleeping quickly so I was tired, but not super exhausted, even though he nursed essentially all night long. It felt so right to finally have my baby. I felt like I had been waiting for him forever and wanting children was the one thing I had always known to my core I wanted. When I was a kid and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I knew I was suppose to pick a career outside of the home, but I always could just think "MOM!" So when he was finally here it just felt so serendipitous, like-- finally.

I know a lot of people struggle with feeling like they're losing themselves after having a baby, but for me I felt like, "There she is." Like this is where I've been heading all along and I've finally made it. I felt like I knew what to do intuitively and I loved figuring him out and getting to know him, and I loved seeing my partnership and relationship grow and shift with the addition of this tiny, perfect person. It felt like such a relief to have finally arrived. Writing it down it seems like an overly polished fantasy world, and it certainly wasn't (and isn't) without its emotions, challenges, and frustrations, but I feel like my postpartum time was one of the best times of my life, and certainly the start to the best chapter of my life (so far).

What is your truth? 

My truth is that I am a powerful and confident and talented woman. I feel parenting is my calling and I feel so lucky to be able to do it, and I am also very good at it. The work I do as a mother to my child and a caregiver to the people in my life is incredibly valuable. Even if people can't see all the things I'm doing, I can, and I don't have to play small or downplay my value. I want new parents to know that the work you do day in and day out, the slog, the invisible unseen labor you are constantly holding is incredible, and just because we live in a society that doesn't value caregiving labor, doesn't mean its not indescribably, immeasurably valuable. You don't have to downplay yourself and your skills and your talents, just because they don't come with a paycheck, and you don't have to hold yourself to impossible standards of perfection to know you're doing an awesome job.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

After struggling with annovulatory PCOS and some known donor complications with Rafferty, I knew it might be hard to get pregnant again. With R I managed to get pregnant with DIY at-home insemination with a known donor both times I actually ovulated after a year and a half of stringent diet, twice weekly accupuncture, and Chinese medicine. When we were ready to try again I decided I didn't want to restrict my eating in a way that didn't feel healthy or life-giving for my body, and I especially didn't want to severely restrict my eating with my child watching me. So I decided I would take fertility drugs and then I would certainly ovulate and when I was able to ovulate, I would get pregnant easily.

We started the process almost 3 years ago and I'm obviously still not pregnant. I fully believe that if I had a lower BMI or I wasn't queer I would have a baby by now. Doctors assume if I just lost weight all my problems would magically be solved. Instead of making habit/behavior based suggestions (or making them but assuming I'm not compliant because I'm still fat), trying different medications and protocols, or reassessing when things don't work all they can talk about is losing weight or doing IUIs or IVF which I can't afford instead of just concentrating on working on getting me to ovulate.

My first OBGYN said I would NEVER get pregnant, refused to prescribe anything but Clomid, which I am resistant to. He also wrote on my actual medical chart that I didn't want to try IUIs at a fertility clinic (which cost $3,000 a pop) and wanted to "continue using a turkey baster." My last OB/GYN stopped prescribing me letrozole, which had been working for me, because I hadn't gotten pregnant after 3 ovulatory cycles and one where I didn't ovulate. The last cycle, he actually told me that this was "really frustrating for [him]." For HIM. The fertility clinic I visited wouldn't give me meds and monitoring if I was doing DIY cycles at home, which is the only thing we can afford because our insurance doesn't cover fertility. Every clinic in my major city we called said the same thing. They cited STI risk, even though I have used our donor before so I have already been exposed, would be doing the inseminations myself so they would not be responsible, and straight, cisgender couples can also be at risk for STI transmission and do not face similar scrutiny.

In short, Rafferty is almost 6 and it's becoming clear we are just about out of financial resources and I am out of emotional resources to keep trying, and am now in the position of trying to come to terms with the fact that I will almost certainly not be having another baby. It is sometimes hard to love my body when I can't get it to do this one thing, this most important thing to me. I want to have these pictures of my beautiful baby and my beautiful body to remind myself that this life I have is wonderful, that my body gave me him, that he is the most magical person and it could never have given me anything better.

I want to remind myself that my body is not a failure and I am not a failure. Capitalism is failing when it puts parenthood out of reach to people who don't have significant class privilege. The medical industrial complex is failing when it says people's complexity can be boiled down to a number on a scale and when it calls itself LGBTQ friendly but can't accommodate the ways queer people build families. I hope someday I stop bursting into tears when I see siblings fighting at the grocery store. I hope I can slowly let go of the overwhelming grief that I can't expand my family. I hope I can let go of the vision in my head of a house full of kids, and just love all the wonderful things about it being just the three of us and all the love we could possibly imagine. I hope one day all the pregnancy announcements and birth pictures are only sources of joy and wonder, and not tinged with jealousy and longing. I hope I can someday look at my body and say, "It's ok. You did great. You did just what I needed you to." I hope this can be a little bit healing for me, and a first step.

Sam Dayze

Sam Dayze (33 - he/him). Parent to Starren (10 - she/her), Finnick (5 - she/her), and Shelter (3 - he/him)

Mobile, AL | New Orleans, LA

“I’ve had one miscarriage. My partner has had two. All of our pregnancies have been through at home artificial insemination. She was pregnant with what was going to be our first child when we were on our way to Orlando with friends. We got in a car wreck, and she miscarried the day after. It was hard, and we stopped trying for awhile. When we were ready to try again, we decided we’d both try to conceive. I conceived right away, but I miscarried at around 6 weeks. We found out she was pregnant a week later. I had so many emotions—excitement, fear, jealousy. My loss definitely sent me into a pretty deep depression it was hard to work through, and it was gut wrenching to reconcile that with the happy we’re-having-a-baby feelings I was also experiencing, and it was even harder to let go of the fear that we were going to lose this one too. But then she was born, and all was well. When our oldest child was two, we decided to try again, and my partner miscarried around 6 weeks. It was devastating, for her especially. We tabled having another baby for another two years, and then she still wasn’t ready to try pregnancy again, so I carried that one...and I spent the entire pregnancy scared I would lose the baby, at first because I’d had a loss before and after that because I developed a high risk condition.

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

I was sexually abused as a child. I always hated my body, because it was used against me. I self harmed. I didn’t want people to look at me or notice me. So my clothes were always oversized. I still struggle with binge eating disorder. I was the person wearing a jacket in 97 degree weather. Having kids forced me to be a lot more cognizant of all of that, and to do the work to process it, because I didn’t want them carrying the same baggage. I’m a lot more appreciative of my body now. This body was used to hurt me, but this body also crafted two babies, carried one to term and through birth, nursed that child for three and a half years, fed a few others through milk donation, and fed my third child who I didn’t birth. I’m especially proud I helped feed our third baby. He was born at 31 weeks via cesarean, because my partner developed severe preeclampsia. Between her and me and many milk donors, he got the human milk he needed to thrive.

Parenthood, especially parenting Finnick, also helped me understand my gender and start doing things for my body that made it feel more ME. Researching things for her—first when her presentation was consistently gender non-conforming from the time she began talking and reaching for clothes and other things on her own, and again when she was “not a boy, just a Finnick!”, and then again when she said she’s a girl and changed her pronouns to she and her—helped me put words to things I’d been feeling for years but didn’t have the language for. I started shopping a little differently, wearing my hair differently, adjusting my language, and feeling more ME in my body. In June I had surgery. My insurance wouldn’t cover top surgery, but they covered a reduction, and I asked my doctors to please take off as much as possible, and adjust the areola size and position...when I woke up and looked down, I just felt such profound relief I cried. I still do sometimes. This body fits who I am so much better now. I’m still the jackets in July guy though.

What was your postpartum experience?

I was sick when I was pregnant with Finnick. I had hyperemesis. I developed a heart arrhythmia. It was a never ending round of midwife appointments, high risk OB appointments, cardiology appointments, electrophysiology appointments , and multiple ER trips and hospitalizations, all between working full time and parenting a 5 year old. I was exhausted and full of anxiety, but I was also dealing with all of these feelings of nothing about my body or my self feeling right anymore. Discomfort with some aspects of womanhood wasn’t new to me—my kids call me Nova, because my partner was Mom, and none of the mother words ever felt comfortable or right for me. But pregnancy is when I first really started verbalizing that I didn’t feel altogether female. I was so overwhelmed I didn’t have time to think of what I expected postpartum. My energy went to coping with my fears surrounding delivery because of my health, but none of them came to pass. I had the quiet, unmedicated vaginal delivery I wanted with our midwife, backed by the high risk obstetrics team, that we as a family didn’t get with our first baby, who was born via emergency cesarean.

But while labor was a breath of fresh air after a miserable pregnancy, postpartum was...it was difficult. Unlike our oldest baby, Finnick cried, for hours on end. I remember listening to Demons by Imagine Dragons on repeat, or sitting in the bathtub with her cradled in my arms, with the water running and her whole body submerged except for her face, or wearing her in a carrier all day and night, because those were the only things that helped calm her down. I struggled with nursing in the beginning. She had jaundice, but it was so slight they discharged us home and had us come back every day for heel sticks, thinking it would resolve with frequent nursing and summer sunlight.

At eight days old, she was finally hospitalized with dehydration and a bilirubin of 23. I felt like a failure. Sleep was rare. At two weeks old, the pediatrician told me she was still losing weight. Again, I felt like a failure. So there was home healthcare and lactation consultants, and trying to figure out the problem, and finally at over a month old, she got back to her birth weight. I had to return to work at six weeks postpartum because I ran out of paid sick leave and couldn’t afford unpaid time. When I went to work and she got my milk in a bottle, she started refusing to nurse. And I felt like a failure again. We worked through that with sweat and tears, and then sometimes I’d have to leave a shift on my lunch break just to hold her for 20 minutes and nurse her while my partner sat in a quiet room because the baby had been screaming all night.

At three months postpartum, I had a cardiac ablation because medication still wasn’t controlling the arrythmia that didn’t go away post birth. I had complications involving defibrillation, and I returned to work a few days later because I couldn’t afford not to. After surgery, my milk supply tanked...and I felt like a failure again while I worked through that. It was just...hard. And isolating. And exhausting. And someone was always touching me. And it was never quiet. I constantly felt like I couldn’t breathe through the anxiety. I loved nursing but hated my chest more than ever, and I’d hated and resented it all my life already. My dysphoria bloomed, but I didn’t fully understand what it was or how to quantify it for a few more years.

Seeking out a purpose helped me cope. My pregnancy struggles taught me that many people don’t have supportive bedside care and advocation for their emotional needs and their birth plans, much less while managing high risk conditions. I had support a lot of people don’t get, and yet I found myself still lacking some of the care and help I needed. There aren’t enough midwives. There isn’t enough pregnancy, labor and postpartum support. There isn’t enough queer competent care. So I made a plan to go back to school and be some of that support for someone, and now I’m a labor nurse at the same hospital in which my kids were born.

Things got better over time. My milk supply went back up. I found a parenting support group. And we reached out to family for help. People from the group or a few family members would keep Finnick for a few hours at a time so we could breathe. My father in law came over and rocked her on his chest all night more than once so we could get more than 2 hours of sleep. At six months old, she started crying less, though things were still tough for her, and we didn’t know why. And when she was two we learned her 4th trimester struggle was because she had sensory processing disorder and was overwhelmed by all the things, and now we know she is autistic as well, as is my partner, and possibly me. Occupational therapy and learning how to help her navigate this world and accommodate her sensory and communication needs made a world of difference.

What is your truth?

You’re not failing at this. It’s hard. It’s really hard, and we have nothing in place to ease that burden. We have no pregnancy or parental leave. We have little access to the full spectrum of healthcare. We have no reliable safety nets. We have unhealthy work expectations and low wages. You are not failing at parenting. The system we have in place is failing you.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

Because there are times I feel invisible, and I want to be seen. Because I am still doing the work of getting comfortable in my body, and I always will be. Because ash’s photos bring me joy. Because I want people to know it’s ok to struggle with pregnancy and parenting, and to not love every aspect of either. Because there are other parents like me out there, and I want them to know they are loved and they are valid, and it’s okay to not know the words for yourself or to discover them at any age or to just be a person without words or labels.

Anna Schwartz

Anna Schwartz (32 - she/her) and Eloise (5). View Anna’s original image from 2018 here.

Buffalo, NY

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

Parenthood has mostly been a positive thing for my body image. Prior to having my daughter, I wasn't very connected to my body--for lots of different reasons--but it just wasn't on my radar most of the time. And when it was, I mostly felt shame.. Which is really sad when I think about it. Since having her and becoming more "enlightened" around a lot of areas--my sexuality, my physical health, my spirituality--I now feel strongly that it is important to cultivate a relationship with your body in which you respect and listen to the messages its constantly sending you and give it what it needs. I try to encourage that for my daughter's relationship with her body as well. It’s hard some days though. The other day, she made a comment about how she is getting "chubby" and I just about cried. Later during bedtime, I realized the book we were reading from when I was a kid used the word "chubby" and it made a lot more sense. We had a good discussion about whats important when it comes to the health of our bodies.

What was your postpartum experience?

I wish I could go back and record more of how I felt because honestly it was such a blur I don't remember very many specifics. I don't think I knew myself as well as I do now, so it almost feels like it happened to another person. I would do things differently now. I would be more mindful, kind to myself, slow down and try to feel less pressure to achieve certain things each day. I remember vividly experiencing a little moment of panic when Eloise fell asleep for naps because I would have a list of maybe 10 things I hoped to get done in that time, when realistically all I could do was shower--if that. I wished I would have just breathed more. Sat more. Taken more in.

What is one piece of knowledge you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

Definitely slow down and take it all in. Thats hard to do when you're stressed and crunched for time, but seriously. In 5 years, you're not going to care if the laundry was done. You'll remember the time you spent gazing at your baby in the backyard when there was a slight warm breeze and the sun was just so. It'll all get done when it gets done.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

When I participated last year, it was just before I was to have surgery to get a catheter placed in my abdomen in order to start dialysis for kidney failure. That seems like years ago and I feel like I was a completely different person back then. I was terrified to have that surgery and start dialysis. It was the ultimate sign of defeat. No longer would my body be able to keep me alive. I would need to rely on a machine. As it turns out, relying on a machine hasn't been too bad. I call her Felicia. I look forward to the day I get the call for a kidney and I can say "BYE FELICIA!" But until then, she gives me energy, hope, a sense of renewal each night. We work together.

I wanted to participate in this project again with my daughter because I want her to be proud of her body, her soul, her whole being, no matter what life throws her. It’s about acceptance and pride for the hand we are dealt. We can't exchange the cards we are given, but we can work hard as hell to make the most of what we've got. For 5 generations, my father's side of the family has been decimated by a rare genetic mutation causing kidney failure. Generation after generation we have shown resiliency and exuberance in the face of incredible loss and trauma. By becoming allies with our bodies, listening to them, trusting them, and giving them what they need to grow--not only physically but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually--we can change how we experience hardship and how we experience being human.

Alyssa Norman

Alyssa Norman (32 - she/her), Mirah (8), and Hazel (5)

Tuscon, AZ | Buffalo, NY

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

When the actual shape of your body changes so dramatically over such a short amount of time, with it comes a feeling of shock. I think most of the pregnancy and the years after I was still in a sort of stunned state. Processing takes time. After the shock settled, I grew to love and hate certain changes in my body. But I think parenthood has had a very positive affect on my personal body image. I feel strong and super capable.

What was your postpartum experience?
Postpartum is a really intimate journey you take with yourself. It's a very exposed and vulnerable place you are in with your own body. It can feel very personal and isolating. It felt for me, very independent. My expectations were not much. It's not really talked about. I figured it was an unknown space & it was, both times. Both of my pregnancies and births were so different from each other. The aftermath was also completely unique. My first birth was pretty typically American - in a hospital, medicated & overdue. I delivered vaginally and had a longer recovery. It took my body a lot of time to recover from the induction and medication. My second birth, I had preeclampsia. Hazel was born a month early, vaginally without pain medication or induction. She was in severe distress and I spent two weeks in the NICU pumping milk in a daze. But my body just went into taking care of the baby. It was as if I hadn't just given birth. I was not sick anymore and I wasn't in a lot of postpartum pain.

I was married when I was 18 in an extraordinarily oppressive religious sect. I was taught that sexuality and being a woman were things to be decided by God. It was only through the birth of Hazel that I was shown my strength and capacity to be able to leave a marriage and defect from an extremely patriarchal lifestyle & religion. It came with big consequences. My family disowned me. They still don't speak to me after 4 years. I had no education, no career history, no way of navigating this world that was so hidden from me. It's an uphill battle everyday, still. I came out as queer. I live an authentic life. I thank Hazel for showing me what I was made of and liberating me from a subservient life full of deep depression.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

I wish birth and women's bodies were normalized. I wish to live in a space where we can share and empower each other. I think the best way is to start with ourselves. I want to be seen and not objectified.