My mummy tummy hell

Posted Monday 13th February 2012   By Ericka Waller

I am a mum of three. Three big babies, born within three and a half years of one another.

Some may say I deserved what I got.

This is what I got...

This is me. This is who I am. This is the mummy secret I carry round, hidden in big pants and long vests and baggy jumpers, even in sunny weather. Especially in sunny weather.

I'd love to tell you I am proud of my body for producing my healthy babies, that my scars remind me what a good house my tummy made.

I wish I could say I am far too busy enjoying being a mum to care about trivial things, such as my appearance.

But it would not be true.

I hate my tummy. I hide it from people at the gym when I get changed. I hide it from my husband by sleeping in his baggy t-shirts. I hide it from my children in over-bubbly baths.

But I can't hide it from me.

The only thing I hate more than my tummy is myself, for hating my tummy. I wish I were a bigger person. I wish I were a less vain person. I wish I were a better role model to my children.

How is my loathing of my appearance affecting them? I try to hide it, but my tummy is the wrinkly grey elephant in the room (literally).

I want my daughters to love themselves. But I can't lead by example.

The doctor has assured me I did nothing wrong. Genetics and hormones are to blame. My husband says he does not care. More of me to love.

But I don't love me, and as long as my tummy looks like it does in the above picture. I don't think I ever will.