My soul said, "Why? But, why?" in that wistful, longing tone that my baby uses when she cannot understand why she can't nurse for the 20th time today.
Of course I don't have the same body I had before these six children. But why would I want to?
My hips are wider; backside a little fatter. I'm a little softer in places. My breasts have grown. And it's OK. I no longer look like a girl. I look like a woman.