Because sometimes I just wanna say f*ck being a mom

Let me just upchuck these words like the bile rising in my throat..
When did this get so hard? Let's be an idiot and go bathing suit shopping like we're gonna find one that's cute and doesn't scream "I'm a mom". Except the only ones I like are one pieces and they have some cute ones but I don't have $40 for that. So instead let's piece together old bathing suits that don't fit anymore because motherhood changes EVERYTHING. I shouldn't be biting back tears. I'm proud of my stretch marks, I'm proud of my extra pounds. I've spent eight months convincing myself that I'm okay with this. That it doesn't matter that my boobs aren't as perky as they used to be. Hell, they're smaller than they've ever been and there wasn't much to begin. But I've spent months working myself up for this. Knowing I should be proud of my body and the things it's created. Yet I'm not. I want my youth back. I don't want my thighs to dimple when I shift my weight. I don't want to put on an xl bottom when I've only ever worn mediums, sometimes large. I don't like the dip in my hips creating a muffin top esque appearance regardless of the size of bottoms I put on. I want my strength back. My endurance. My cardio. I find it finitely baffling that after child two I've returned to the struggle of one again morning the woman I used to be. But it's all changed. Everything. Even my own personal style has changed. Fitted, not tight. Cute yet classy. Alluring but conservative. Can I just go back to the fifties already? Give me a one piece and let me rock that shit sexy or give me back my old body... what happened to the days of running with reckless abandon in a poor excuse for coverage and not giving a shit? Still feeling sexy? Why do I feel like I'm grieving the loss of what my body used to be? Why do I feel as if I've lost my youth? My appeal? How can I look at a picture of my own body less than two years ago and barely recognize myself.  How can others not recognize it as me at all? Sure, I've got a nice ass by others accounts. Truth be told I don't think it's all that great and I get sick of hearing about it. My pride and joy used to be my legs. Long enough but not too long. Toned, strong. Lean. My torso with my ever perky boobs and smooth abdomen. Now there's like this permanent pooch and I have no idea when my boobs started looking like they've been engorged with milk a time or two. (Twice. Foreal.) I should love this motherly body of mine. But I'm not ready to feel so old. My face forever appears younger than my age, but the rest of my body? Shows in ways only clothes can mask. And that's precisely what I do day in and day out. Give a woman the right clothes and she can conquer the world. Put her in a bathing suit and apparently all façades of confidence shatter...