For the Not-So-Skinny Mom (And Proud of It)

It’s 4 a.m., and I’m sipping coffee—not because a baby woke me, but because insomnia is a clingy friend who won’t take the hint. Instead of doom-scrolling or obsessing over how tomorrow’s chaos will be even more chaotic on zero sleep, I found myself reading blog posts from around the world. That’s when I stumbled across a piece by Jade from The Parenting Jungle—and wow, it hit home.

Her words poked at a spot I’ve been avoiding for a while. So here it is. The post I’ve been wrestling with—because writing this means being real, and sometimes, real is raw.

Let’s just get it out there: I’m not skinny.

And yes, that’s a “vulnerability zone” for me. You might have one too—something you don’t talk about because, well, it’s easier to joke it off or dress it up in Spanx. But here I am, finally saying it out loud.

The Pressure Is Real (and Ridiculous)

We, moms, feel the pressure. Heck, all women do. Pressure to bounce back. To “snap into shape” like we’re made of elastic. To wear the baby AND the skinny jeans by week six postpartum. And if we don’t? We’re told—subtly or not—that we’ve somehow let ourselves go.

But let me be real for a minute: gaining weight doesn’t mean I’m lazy, unhealthy, or have stopped caring. In my 20s, my husband and I spent six long years battling infertility. Hormone treatments took a toll—25 extra kilograms worth. Still, I was active. I ran. I played touch rugby. I did all the “right things.” And the scale? Unmoved.

Fast-forward to my first miracle pregnancy—28 more kilos. Then another pregnancy. Another round of gain-lose-gain-repeat. And no, I didn’t spring back into my old jeans the second labour was over. I was more focused on keeping a tiny human alive than getting a thigh gap.

Real Talk: It’s Not a Competition

To all the moms who do bounce back—go you! Seriously, I cheer you on. But should that be the gold standard? The unspoken rule for motherhood?

Let’s be honest. Some of us don’t just carry babies—we carry scars, saggy bits, stretch marks, and weight that won’t budge. And that’s not a failure. That’s evidence—of life, of sacrifice, of love. My belly stretched to grow life. My breasts nourished my babies. And yet somehow, we’re made to feel like we’ve let ourselves down if we don’t “snap back.”

What Our Kids Are Really Watching

My youngest is 21 months old, and my weight is still doing its own thing. Do I try to exercise? Sometimes. But let’s be real—I’m raising four small humans on caffeine, crumbs, and chaos. A morning run sounds like nails on a chalkboard when you’ve had two hours of broken sleep and a full day ahead.

But you know what matters more than my jean size? How I talk to myself (Modelling Healthy Habits). How I treat my reflection. Because one day, my children will look at themselves the same way I look at myself. If they see me chasing impossible ideals or tearing myself down, they’ll learn to do the same.

So no, I don’t want them to grow up thinking beauty = thinness, or value = appearance. I want them to see that being strong, kind, real, and present is what makes someone beautiful.

Confidence Isn’t One-Size-Fits-All

I won’t lie—there are moments I wish things were different. I’ve got a wedding coming up in South Africa, and yeah, I’m dreading dress shopping a little. I won’t be a size 8, and I probably won’t turn heads when I walk into the room. But I will walk in with confidence, laughter, and a heart full of joy. And that, my friends, is far more magnetic.

So here’s to the not-so-skinny moms. The ones surviving on cold coffee, leftover nuggets, and the rare, golden nap. The ones who are still trying, still showing up, still loving their bodies—even on the hard days.

You’re not alone. And you’re more than enough—just as you are.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have breakfast to make, kids to dress, laundry to fold… and maybe, just maybe, a short walk if the stars align.

Eager to read a few more posts? Have a look at Can you find the clues?  Why Mother’s Day is so important to me! or The ultimate guide to sleeping when pregnant.