Heather Propsom

Heather Propsom (33), Sage (3), and Thora (5 mos)

Sturgeon Bay, WI | Asheville, NC

Heather shares -

“I look back at old photos of myself in which I'm a little more slim and toned. I envy those times but then realize I was flooded with insecurities back then, too. Since then my body has produced new life twice over and has allowed me to feed both children. What could be more fulfilling than that? My body is an asset, a tool, not just some figure to be picked apart for its imperfections.

Adjusting to a second child has been more difficult than I expected. Thora's birth was arguably pretty wild (she was delivered by our doula on the side of the road a couple miles short of the hospital) and, in retrospect, it took a bit to process what had happened. Then the compromised sleep surfaced anxieties that used to lurk pretty deep. Now life is heavier, there is obviously more responsibility, but there's also a ton of joy and with it the realization that these moments of early parenthood are fleeting. I'm also incredibly lucky to have these healthy and resilient kiddos to call my own.

I have to remind myself frequently to stop fixating on the unknown. Don't expect the worst or even the best for each and everyday. Let it happen. Parenthood is a funny game of trying to control the uncontrollable. So instead, just try to be totally present for your children everyday even if it's just for a half hour of reading time.

My husband and I have been very fortunate - no issues getting pregnant, healthy pregnancies, natural births without major complications, I’ve been able to breastfeed too (not that that is such a walk in the park) Yet, like every baby, every birth and every one, I have unique circumstances and struggles to share. My mother died of metastatic breast cancer 4 weeks after I became a parent. That experience pulled the proverbially rug right out from underneath me. It's hard not to be jealous of peers who have their moms to turn to in those early years of parenthood. I've found myself drawn to other women and other women's stories for this reason.”

Carly Mayer

Carly Mayer (26) and Eleanor (7 months)

Oak Park, IL

Carly shares -

“Parenthood had caused me to lose my body identity. My body is no longer just my own, but has become hers. My breasts are for her; to feed on her demand. To be stretched through arm holes and over car seats on road trips. My arms are never resting at my side. They are fluid with her, sometimes seeming to turn from two into three. My former vibrant red hair is now faded and pulled up to avoid her curious hands. My previously strong legs have gone soft from hours of sitting at her level. My body is no longer my own, but on most days that is glorious.

I am in awe of what I have seen my body accomplish. I had the strength and endurance to deliver a human being into this world. Not easily of course, but successfully. I feel as if my body is amazing, but it is no longer what it used to be.

I took awhile to accept and respect my new mom bod. The first few months of exhaustion, feeling glued to the rocking chair, and the newly flat tire I used to call my midsection was discouraging. The words he said to me replaying in my ear, “You’re in your prime now. Guys aren’t going to want to date you after you have a kid.” Being a single mother with the pressure to find someone that will eventually love my mom bod as much as I try to. Those feelings took some time to move through. Surrounding myself with supportive women helped.

In March 2017, my mother was in the ICU barely able to breath. She was fighting stage four metastatic breast cancer and pneumonia. When my sister asked her if she was afraid of dying, my faith filled mother said she did not fear death, but instead feared she would never meet her grandchildren. The next day I found out I was pregnant.

It seemed as if it was meant to be; except for the fact that my pregnancy was unplanned, the father of my child had ended our relationship, and my father was not even aware I was dating someone because of his race. My situation was not ideal by any means, but I chose to continue my pregnancy.

My daughter’s birth was incredible. My mother was well enough to experience the delivery with me. My best friend and doula were also by my side. We had so much girl power in the room- I’m convinced that is why my daughter turned out so tough.

She has had her fair share of medical issues, something I was not prepared for. My greatest challenge has been her weight gain. I struggled with breastfeeding and she struggled with reflux. The combination caused her to constantly under weigh and the finger of blame was always pointed at me. What was I doing that was inadequate? I felt so much self doubt and pressure.

I was mislead that breastfeeding would be easier. The first couple months postpartum I spent cross legged on my parent’s couch with Eleanor attached to my breast, rarely coming up for air. I was exhausted, and living with my parents and siblings did not help. I was fortunate to have the support of my family, but without her father sharing in on the all nighters I felt alone.

Those feelings escalated along with my anxiety and became overwhelming. I could not get through a trip to the grocery store with Eleanor without having an anxiety attack. I became housebound because she would not take a bottle. I felt isolated, overwhelmed, and hopeless. I questioned my ability as a mother. I was struggling with postpartum depression but was unaware.

I started taking Zoloft to gain control of my postpartum depression and am beyond grateful I did. Taking my daughter places is exciting for me instead of crippling. The only place I now dread is her podiatrist. Every week we have to have Eleanor’s bilateral casts sawed off and new ones put on. I know they’re going to straighten her curved feet, but her pain is torture for me.

No parenting book could have prepared me for how protective I would feel seeing my child in pain. My protectiveness crosses over with how I feel about reaching out to her father. His lack of involvement is something I struggled a lot with during my pregnancy and when she was first born. I still have my moments of weakness- being a single mom is tough. People have their opinions on what a family should look like. They think the father should be responsible for the child. There should be both a mom and a dad parenting. Its 2018 people. Having one kick-ass parent is enough. Eleanor and I are our own family. She is blessed to grow up in my packed household.

America has a skewed perception of how motherhood should be. Mothers are expected to breastfeed easily but not in public. They are supposed to bond with and have their child on a routine by the time their 8-12 week partially paid maternity leave is up. Women should be ready to lose the extra 30 pounds in half the time it took to gain the weight. America puts pressure on the new mom, their role, and their expectation as women. I am honored to participate in a movement that rawly embraces the truth of parenthood- the struggles and the beauty. A movement that provokes Americans to see breastfeeding as natural and intimate. I hope my image with my daughter will capture my new found self-love and encourage others to respect motherhood and women’s bodies more.”

Emily Garnett

Emily Garnett (33) and Felix (2.5)

Phoenix, AZ | Brooklyn, NY

Emily shares - 

"My husband and I started trying to get pregnant after our second wedding anniversary. At the time, I was working as an attorney for the aging, serving as a Court-appointed guardian, but chose to leave my law practice in order to stay home with our son, Felix. I had an amazing pregnancy, and was so happy and excited to become a mother. I was induced at 41 weeks, and had a wonderful birth experience. I couldn't believe my son was here.

I have always had a complicated relationship with my body, as I'm sure most women do. In high school and college, I was an accomplished competitive distance swimmer, and after college I completed the New York City Marathon. I found comfort in posing challenges to my body, pushing it to its limits, and finding comfort in the discomfort of those limits. After my son was born, I struggled to navigate both the foreign terrain of motherhood and the foreign terrain of my own skin. My body was no longer my own, and no longer could I push it in the ways that were once familiar.

I felt uncertain about most aspects of parenthood, and this uncertainty gave way to anxiety, depression, and the nagging physical pain. I was struggling under the weight of this incredible child I had created. My son and I slept little, and I was able to rest even less. Several weeks after Felix was born, I began to experience a lot of back pain, and it grew worse throughout his infancy. I sought out a few different medical specialists, hoping to find answers, but was quickly written off as a new mother, a breastfeeding mother, a mother who carried around "unnecessary" postpartum weight. None of them attended to my pain effectively.

As my son grew, so did the pain, until I was chasing after a joyous and unruly toddler, gasping from the pain, but pushing it back to the recesses of my mind, writing it off as I had for so long as an appurtenance to motherhood. Three days after celebrating my son's second birthday, I received an answer to the question that had nagged me - why did my body feel like it was falling apart? I was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer that had metastasized to my bones, an incurable, terminal disease that turned my world upside down.

However, getting diagnosed with incurable cancer has helped me be a better mother. I found space for myself apart from my son, and we found a new life for our family as three. We found joy in the new life we were cobbling together, and at the same time, we mourned the life we no longer had. Part of my treatment has been putting my body into chemical menopause, so it is not possible for us to have any more children, biological or otherwise. I began writing about my experience and used my legal training to be an advocate for young women and mothers with breast cancer.

In so many ways, rebuilding a new life after a cancer diagnosis has many similarities to rebuilding a new life after bringing home a baby. There is anxiety and uncertainty, but also moments of simplicity and joy. Life goes on all around you even as your world slows to a stop.

I wanted to capture this moment in time with my son - the "terrible" twos that are full of so much emotion, so much love, so many struggles, so much growth, for both of us - so that we can always have this snapshot as a memory of life as it was, in all of its difficult beauty.

All of the struggles, challenges, and trials we face as parents and humans are the things that form the ongoing narratives of our lives. They may not be the things we would choose, but allowing those narratives to play out and allowing yourself to embrace whatever it might be, is an amazing gift.