Dear Diary,
I don’t know who invented the phrase “bounce back,” but I’m convinced they’ve never actually had a baby. Like, I just spent nine months growing an entire human, and you want me to bounce back? Mate, I can barely crawl, let alone bounce.
I remember scrolling through Instagram during those early days postpartum—because, let’s be real, what else are you going to do during a 3 a.m. feed—and being bombarded with these mums who looked like they just walked out of a magazine shoot. I’m talking about flat stomachs, dewy skin, and white sofas that miraculously stayed clean despite their kids.
Meanwhile, I was over here, rocking a messy bun that could’ve been mistaken for a bird’s nest, wearing the same milk-stained shirt for three days straight. I couldn’t even tell what size my body was because I was still in maternity leggings. Stretchy for life, right?
At first, the pressure was real. It felt like there was this invisible timer counting down to when I should be "back to normal"—like my body would magically go back to pre-baby size as soon as I left the hospital. But spoiler alert: it didn’t. And here’s the kicker… that’s okay.
For a while, I avoided mirrors. Every time I caught a glimpse, all I could see were changes—stretch marks, soft belly, the whole lot. And somewhere in that mix, I lost sight of the fact that my body had just accomplished something monumental. I mean, this body built and birthed a tiny human! That’s more impressive than any celebrity snapback, if you ask me.
I kept thinking, “Shouldn’t I be back in my old jeans by now?” But why was I trying to fit back into my old self when I’d just been through the most transformative experience of my life? I wasn’t the same person I was before—so why did I expect my body to be? It took time (and many pep talks with myself), but I started to shift my focus.
Instead of obsessing over what I thought I should look like, I began celebrating what my body had done. And honestly, it felt like a weight lifted. Not a physical one (still love you, squishy belly), but an emotional one.
The truth is, “bouncing back” should be about bouncing forward—embracing the new version of yourself, messy bun, stretch marks, and all. Now, I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out. There are still days when I think, “Yeah, I miss those jeans.” But most days, I’m in awe of the strength it took to bring life into the world.
So here’s to redefining what bouncing back means—forgetting the old rules and creating our own. And if that includes wearing leggings for the rest of my life, so be it. I’m choosing to celebrate every stretch mark, every soft curve, and every inch of this body that tells the story of becoming a mum. And if anyone asks when I’m going to “bounce back,” I’ll just tell them I’m bouncing forward—squishy bits and all.
Love, A Mum Who’s Done Bouncing (and now just dancing)
P.S. Those Instagram mums with white sofas? They must have some kind of magic. I’m convinced.
I don’t know who invented the phrase “bounce back,” but I’m convinced they’ve never actually had a baby. Like, I just spent nine months growing an entire human, and you want me to bounce back? Mate, I can barely crawl, let alone bounce.
I remember scrolling through Instagram during those early days postpartum—because, let’s be real, what else are you going to do during a 3 a.m. feed—and being bombarded with these mums who looked like they just walked out of a magazine shoot. I’m talking about flat stomachs, dewy skin, and white sofas that miraculously stayed clean despite their kids.
Meanwhile, I was over here, rocking a messy bun that could’ve been mistaken for a bird’s nest, wearing the same milk-stained shirt for three days straight. I couldn’t even tell what size my body was because I was still in maternity leggings. Stretchy for life, right?
At first, the pressure was real. It felt like there was this invisible timer counting down to when I should be "back to normal"—like my body would magically go back to pre-baby size as soon as I left the hospital. But spoiler alert: it didn’t. And here’s the kicker… that’s okay.
For a while, I avoided mirrors. Every time I caught a glimpse, all I could see were changes—stretch marks, soft belly, the whole lot. And somewhere in that mix, I lost sight of the fact that my body had just accomplished something monumental. I mean, this body built and birthed a tiny human! That’s more impressive than any celebrity snapback, if you ask me.
I kept thinking, “Shouldn’t I be back in my old jeans by now?” But why was I trying to fit back into my old self when I’d just been through the most transformative experience of my life? I wasn’t the same person I was before—so why did I expect my body to be? It took time (and many pep talks with myself), but I started to shift my focus.
Instead of obsessing over what I thought I should look like, I began celebrating what my body had done. And honestly, it felt like a weight lifted. Not a physical one (still love you, squishy belly), but an emotional one.
The truth is, “bouncing back” should be about bouncing forward—embracing the new version of yourself, messy bun, stretch marks, and all. Now, I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out. There are still days when I think, “Yeah, I miss those jeans.” But most days, I’m in awe of the strength it took to bring life into the world.
So here’s to redefining what bouncing back means—forgetting the old rules and creating our own. And if that includes wearing leggings for the rest of my life, so be it. I’m choosing to celebrate every stretch mark, every soft curve, and every inch of this body that tells the story of becoming a mum. And if anyone asks when I’m going to “bounce back,” I’ll just tell them I’m bouncing forward—squishy bits and all.
Love, A Mum Who’s Done Bouncing (and now just dancing)
P.S. Those Instagram mums with white sofas? They must have some kind of magic. I’m convinced.
