Nourishment

When I was twelve, I developed an eating disorder. I managed to keep it a secret until I moved to live with my father at 14 and was hospitalised at 15 for depression, self-harming and eating disorders.

I stayed in hospital for about six months, during which time my parents nearly came to their first agreement in over a decade. I was to be given over to a foster family, who would also adopt me in the process. Somehow I managed to talk them out of it and on my release from the psychiatric ward I moved into my first apartment at the age of less than 16. I continued therapy for a good while, made plenty of mistakes along the way and never got out of my depression. The eating disorder also remained.

I told Hubby about this when I'd known him for approximately 24 hours. When I moved in with him, I made an effort to stop physically acting on my eating disorder, which obviously only hid the outer signs. At the time that was all I was capable of doing and it took all my strenght, but I was trying my best not to have a negative impact on then tiny Mr. Buttons.

When the time came to talk about having a family, one of the first things Hubby said was "You'll get bigger during pregnancy, what if that makes your eating disorder get worse again?" I said I would be careful to watch my thoughts and promise to get help.

When I did get pregnant and my bump started growing, I was so excited. It grew, grew and then grew some more. I loved it unconditionally. I rubbed it, sang to my baby and couldn't have cared less about my size. My cousin lovingly commenting "What the hell? Are you even pregnant, or do you just take after your father?!" just made me chuckle.

And then my little Captain was born. I loved her and I loved my flabby tummy. I loved every stretch mark, every newly highlighted vein in my breasts, everything. I loved it because it had been her home and kept her safe. Because it had done something so right, even after everything I had done to hurt it. Because it had forgiven me and grown something so perfect. Few short months of pregnancy did to me what years of professional help could not.

When I was leaving the hospital, I was given some leaflets. One of them was from LLL and it had one of the most beautiful thoughts I had ever heard. It said that a mother is a habitat for her baby. It made me cry then and it still moves me the same way now, 21 months later.

That gave me strenght in the first few weeks, when I was tender, scared and lonely. That my once useless body was still a home for my baby and that I was all the nourishment she needed. How could you do anything but love something that miraculous?