Rebecca Shamblin

My toddler’s recent preference for her father has gone from sub-textual to textual. She has no compunction about loudly pushing me away and requesting her dad instead. I’ve been reprimanded for even speaking to her on occasion — “Don’t talk to me, Mom! Don’t talk!”

I thought that being a stay-at-home mom would mean that I wasn't beholden to schedules, and ‘getting out the door on time’ and other constraints that would make me rush my exploring toddler. My child would always be granted the time to pause and learn about her environment. I would let her move on her own schedule – you know, in between all-organic snacks and Montessori activities.

If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.