The softness. The stretch. The deflation.
It used to make me want to crawl out of my own skin.
Now? I see it as motivation. Everything feels paused. Like my body's buffering.
A half-finished marble statue, waiting for a million-dollar sculptor.
I don’t want to erase the story.
I want the version of me that worships myself for it.
A body that feels like I do.
I’m building.
I’ve been dreaming about a full mommy makeover for years. For me, this isn’t just about body or aesthetics. It's a medical necessity, a chance to rebuild, and a full life reinvention.
I’m ready. Prepared. People keep asking when it's happening. I keep saying soon. But soon feels like forever.
I’m ready. Prepared. People keep asking when it's happening. I keep saying soon. But soon feels like forever.
I'm trying to love myself now, but I'm too aware of what's coming. Still becoming. Halfway to myself. A woman balancing motherhood, chaos, and ambition while chasing a dream most wouldn’t even dare to voice. I'm just in-between versions of myself.