I remember the pride I felt when my stomach was taut and firm from being so active, and the despair I felt when I saw how it “hung there” after my first son was born.  The belly that I’d rejoiced in as my child grew inside me now flopped over the top of my pants.  Zen was born by Cesarean, and I referred to the piece of me that jutted over the scar as “Moe’s (the bartender from The Simpsons) lip. My second son, Zazu, was also a Cesarean birth, but by then I’d stopped worrying about whether my stomach was flat or not.  I celebrated the fact that my belly/uterus was the place where my sons grew healthy and strong for 9 long months.  My soft belly was the place where they lay comfortably as they nursed, and the refuge that they sought when their little worlds turned upside down.  My belly is the place where my husband’s hand rested to feel his sons bloom inside me, and where it now rests tenderly, as we cuddle together each night.  Although I no longer have a physical womb, due to a recent hysterectomy, new life still springs forth from that place which makes me uniquely woman.  I am Mommy.  I am Goddess.  I am Mommy Goddess.