My Body(54)

The sun rose an hour before it was time to begin pushing. Pink and orange light filtered through the blinds into the hospital room. Striped shadows splayed across the walls. As I pushed, I asked for a mirror. I wanted to see my body. I wanted to witness its progress.

I threw up in a small plastic container that a nurse held to my mouth. Everything was bright. There was no color—just white light. It was morning, the city was waking up. I thought about the coffee being consumed, the hot showers, the lovers saying their goodbyes from a night spent together. Millions of people went about their rituals as they prepared their bodies for another day of life. Birth is as unremarkable as any of those small events: at all times, there is a woman’s body in labor. It is both so extraordinary and so common, the way our bodies take us through our lives.

I felt a stab in my pelvis and through my lower back. The contractions guided the room; their rhythms determined everything. I announced each time when one began to peak and the nurse, doctor, and S rushed to get into position next to me and then, like a tide, receded and dispersed again. I was rewarded with every push: a respite from the pain and then a glimpse of the top of my son’s head.

In the mirror positioned above me I no longer recognized my face: it was puffy and red, and the veins at my temple were pronounced and throbbing. My body was swollen and raw and unfamiliar. Everything had transformed. My baby’s heartbeat crackled through the monitor.

I heard a voice say something about how it had been too long, that the baby was too big and I was too small. “May have to get the vacuum,” the doctor said. No, I thought.

“Push!” S said, holding my head in his hands and pressing his forehead to mine. I shut my eyes.

“You get to meet your son soon!” the nurses had said as encouragement. I’d never before understood when people described birth as a meeting, but now I did.



* * *



I FELT HIM, his body on my chest, but more acutely his presence in the room.

In a daze, I held him to me. Of my flesh, I thought. The mirror was pushed to the side, but I could still see the place from where he emerged. My body.





NOTE





Men Like You


1. This is a redacted email sent to my former manager in 2020.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS





A version of the essay “Buying Myself Back” was printed in New York magazine. Thank you to David Haskell for taking a leap of faith before anyone else would, and to Marisa Carroll for choosing that particular essay.

I am so grateful to the readers who shared how my story affected them. You made me feel less alone. You gave me hope.

Thank you:

To Amy Einhorn and the entire team at Metropolitan for their fierce commitment to this book.

To my editors, Sara Bershtel and Riva Hocherman, for their concision, thoughtfulness, and patience. I owe so much to your keen eyes and open minds. Thank you for seeing this book as one that belongs at Metropolitan. And to Brian Lax, who kept us organized.

To Nate Muscato. To my nimble and brilliant agent, David Kuhn. I treasure our friendship.

To Amy, for your support throughout the years.

To Lindsay Galin, who is fearless, hardworking, and always honest.

To Pippa and Mary. Thank you for being my early readers. Your insights made all the difference.

To Liz, for teaching me how to listen to my body.

To Sarah, for grabbing my hand and going down this road with me.

To Josh, who took his precious mask off in order to tell me what he made of my work.

To Lena and all the other writers who welcomed me with open arms.

To Stephanie Danler, whom I emailed out of the blue, attaching long and messy drafts of essays with a plea for feedback. I will never be able to express what it meant to read your words: “Yes, you’re a writer.” Thank you for always being there. Your kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity gave me the confidence to write this book.

To Kat, for being my family and for always loving me.

To Barbara. You have filled my life with joy.

To my mother and my father, the first storytellers I ever knew.

To my husband, for showing me how transforming love can be.

To Sly, to whom this book is dedicated. While you grew inside of me, I wrote, hoping to become the best version of myself for you.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR


EMILY RATAJKOWSKI is a model, actor, activist, entrepreneur, and writer. She has starred in David Fincher’s Gone Girl, among other films. Ratajkowski has also appeared on the covers of multiple magazines and walked the runway for numerous high-fashion brands. Her 2020 essay for New York magazine, “Buying Myself Back,” was hailed as a landmark and was the magazine’s most-read piece of the year. My Body is her first book. You can sign up for email updates here.