Dear Unwanted Belly Flap,
I have to say, our introduction was far from pleasant. I remain uncertain whether to label you as a “flap,” a “shelf,” or some other more clinical term, but one thing is clear: you are a nuisance. Frankly, you deserve a much harsher name, considering you showed up uninvited and quickly became an unsightly bulge that I can’t hide.
I can vividly recall the first time I encountered you post-C-section. As I gingerly touched my lower abdomen, I thought, “This swelling will go down soon.” How naive I was! Now, long after my baby has outgrown infancy, you persist as an unwelcome reminder of my journey into motherhood—like an unattractive canopy of flesh draped over my body.
Despite my efforts to accept your presence, every time I have to adjust you or tuck you into my underwear, I am reminded of how much I dislike you. Reading articles about body positivity does little to help; I’d prefer a more permanent solution, like surgery to eliminate this unsightly mass that has taken residence.
It’s true that I didn’t look like a swimsuit model before your arrival, but your presence certainly hasn’t improved the situation. At least stretch marks can be concealed; you, on the other hand, are impossible to ignore. When I wear my favorite workout gear, it feels like I’m sporting a neon billboard advertising my belly flap. I tug at my shirt, worried that others might be whispering about me.
To add insult to injury, you occupy a space that makes it impossible for me to simply suck you in. I’ve invested in shapewear that is anything but comfortable. Even when I manage to hide you, I know you’re lurking, ready to spill over my C-section scar like an unwanted guest.
And let’s not even discuss the unsexy reality of having to lift you up while grooming. It often feels like a pointless endeavor. Plus, your persistent numbness adds to the overall discomfort, making me feel as if I’m dealing with something truly bizarre.
In summary, I am fed up with your existence. No one warned me about your arrival, and you certainly weren’t on the guest list. I’ve tried exercise to banish you, but that hasn’t worked, and the guilt isn’t doing anything either. For now, I’ll continue searching for longer shirts and adapting to your unwelcome company. But rest assured, if I ever come into a windfall, I’ll be heading straight to the nearest clinic for a little surgical intervention.
With little affection,
Alex
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