I stood in front of the mirror in disbelief. I looked up and down and all around, but no me. My hair, freshly washed and coiffed, looked dull and nappy; my comfy clothes did more to hurt my lack of shape than hide its imperfetions; my skin looked ruddy and my face seemed mis-shapen. I turned away and left the room, fighting back the water rush from my eyes.
Ugly doesn't tip the iceberg when it came to how I felt about my reflection. I know as a mom I might change my clothing a bit even my hairstyle, but never had I expected to not look like me. The disgust at my reflection started a domino effect on my already declining mental state. I avoided any mirrors opting for my imaginary self-vision to get me outside an get the mail. I refused to have pics taken of me with the baby because I didn't want my little angel to look at them someday and think how terrible her mother looked. I didn't want to see friends or go anywhere I didn't have a good reason to leave the house. I didn't want my husband to have to look at me let alone touch me.
Adding insult to injury I began noticing that the pain my body had during my pregnancy was not only not going away, but seemed to be getting worse. Some moments I couldn't even get up to walk to the bathroom, and mostly I didn't want to move for fear of the pain.
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