No, I don't mean I AM (though some may think so), I mean I am ranting and kavetching about my post-baby body. But Baby Body Kavetch doesn't have the alliteration, so I like this title.POST BABY BODY. Oh my GOSH. What the HELL. (No question there, just a statement. Because seriously, what the HELL.)
I'd take naked pictures and post them, but if you've never had kids, you'd throw up, and if you HAVE had kids, you'd say, "You got nothin' on me, take a look at THIS!" and I'd throw up. So, no pictures, but please...allow me to describe for you the living hell of having given birth and having to look at yourself in the mirror afterward.
I'd take naked pictures and post them, but if you've never had kids, you'd throw up, and if you HAVE had kids, you'd say, "You got nothin' on me, take a look at THIS!" and I'd throw up. So, no pictures, but please...allow me to describe for you the living hell of having given birth and having to look at yourself in the mirror afterward.
I had perfect breasts...emphasis on HAD. I'm sorry, it's true. They were PERFECT. 34 B, teardrop profile, petite pink nipples, satiny-smooth and gorgeous. If I still had them, they would be my downfall. God would deny me entrance into Heaven based solely on my pride. They were truly fabulous breasts.
And now they are gone. No, I don't mean my fabulous breasts are gone, I mean my BREASTS are gone. You see, one day long ago I was pregnant with baby # 1 and about to get into the shower when I looked up at my naked body in the mirror and panicked. My tender, swollen, miserable baby-baking breasts looked horrendously bruised from the bottom of the nipple down. Seriously, it looked like someone had taken out a baseball bat and beat the hell out of my bosom. I had to think to myself, "What, was I oblivious to my hubby being too rough last night?" and when I realized we hadn't had sex (sometimes I confuse the days...particularly with pregnant brain) I called him into the bathroom to help me figure out what on EARTH had bruised my poor boobs! Neither of us knew what was going on, so I call the OB, who had me describe the ugliness...and then determined that the nasty-ass purple streaks on my boobs were, in fact, stretch marks.
And now they are gone. No, I don't mean my fabulous breasts are gone, I mean my BREASTS are gone. You see, one day long ago I was pregnant with baby # 1 and about to get into the shower when I looked up at my naked body in the mirror and panicked. My tender, swollen, miserable baby-baking breasts looked horrendously bruised from the bottom of the nipple down. Seriously, it looked like someone had taken out a baseball bat and beat the hell out of my bosom. I had to think to myself, "What, was I oblivious to my hubby being too rough last night?" and when I realized we hadn't had sex (sometimes I confuse the days...particularly with pregnant brain) I called him into the bathroom to help me figure out what on EARTH had bruised my poor boobs! Neither of us knew what was going on, so I call the OB, who had me describe the ugliness...and then determined that the nasty-ass purple streaks on my boobs were, in fact, stretch marks.
Dear God. STRETCH MARKS? Yeah.
Oh, and those pretty pink nips? Try BROWN. It looked like someone had coated them in cheap self-tanner, in fact, because they were even a little splotchy. The brown (mostly) went away, of course, but the stretch marks? I'll get to that. Long about breast-feeding # 2, of course, my boobs hit 40 DD. That's 6 inches and a gazillion cup sizes larger than my pert little college girl breasts had been. And then they deflated. I thought it was bad after baby1, but OH NO, after baby2 I knew I'd never recover them. They currently look like someone inflated a water balloon to twice its capacity and then deflated the whole thing, letting out all but a couple tablespoons of water. And my nipples are now slightly INVERTED. Didn't know that could happen, didja? And I can scrunch the bottom half of my breast all together into what looks JUST like elbow skin. Only uglier. How about chicken skin? That's more accurate.
The best part, though, is how they hang. They used to dangle beautifully. Now they look like a pair of socks half-filled with rice. At best. And MAYBE fill a 36 AA. With a little help from my water bra or memory foam friends, of course.
To say nothing of my upper arms, which used to be semi-slim. Now? MommyWing. If you see me perching my arm up on something it's because I don't want said arm lying flat against my side for fear of my upper arm looking like it belongs on a trucker. It doesn't matter how long I go to the gym or how many tricep exercises I do, I have MommyWing. Funny, really; when we were at Sea World, we attended the Shamu night show, and they went around the audience beforehand filming various audience members and putting their pictures on the big screen in front. A woman with MommyWing was spotlighted and started to wave...and when she saw her MommyWing flapping in the wind on the big screen, immediately put her arm down against her side and waved that way. I can relate. I hate raising my arm because that MommyWing goes Jiggly-Crazy!
Speaking of crazy, my bum has doubled in size. As have my saddle bags. Giddy up, horsey, 'cuz my thighs are loaded and I'm ready to ride! The best part about queen-sized bum, saddle bags, AND THIGHS, though, is not the sheer size of them...it's the silvery rifts in my flesh stretching from top to bottom. Initially those squishy silver streaks were deep purple, stretched from waist to knee (backside, side-sides, and inside thigh), and made me look like I'd been attacked by HellCat...but eventually they faded into the perfect display for cellulite. *Scratch*Bumpy Fat Pocket*Scratch*Bumpy Fat Pocket*Scratch*.
Oh, and those pretty pink nips? Try BROWN. It looked like someone had coated them in cheap self-tanner, in fact, because they were even a little splotchy. The brown (mostly) went away, of course, but the stretch marks? I'll get to that. Long about breast-feeding # 2, of course, my boobs hit 40 DD. That's 6 inches and a gazillion cup sizes larger than my pert little college girl breasts had been. And then they deflated. I thought it was bad after baby1, but OH NO, after baby2 I knew I'd never recover them. They currently look like someone inflated a water balloon to twice its capacity and then deflated the whole thing, letting out all but a couple tablespoons of water. And my nipples are now slightly INVERTED. Didn't know that could happen, didja? And I can scrunch the bottom half of my breast all together into what looks JUST like elbow skin. Only uglier. How about chicken skin? That's more accurate.
The best part, though, is how they hang. They used to dangle beautifully. Now they look like a pair of socks half-filled with rice. At best. And MAYBE fill a 36 AA. With a little help from my water bra or memory foam friends, of course.
To say nothing of my upper arms, which used to be semi-slim. Now? MommyWing. If you see me perching my arm up on something it's because I don't want said arm lying flat against my side for fear of my upper arm looking like it belongs on a trucker. It doesn't matter how long I go to the gym or how many tricep exercises I do, I have MommyWing. Funny, really; when we were at Sea World, we attended the Shamu night show, and they went around the audience beforehand filming various audience members and putting their pictures on the big screen in front. A woman with MommyWing was spotlighted and started to wave...and when she saw her MommyWing flapping in the wind on the big screen, immediately put her arm down against her side and waved that way. I can relate. I hate raising my arm because that MommyWing goes Jiggly-Crazy!
Speaking of crazy, my bum has doubled in size. As have my saddle bags. Giddy up, horsey, 'cuz my thighs are loaded and I'm ready to ride! The best part about queen-sized bum, saddle bags, AND THIGHS, though, is not the sheer size of them...it's the silvery rifts in my flesh stretching from top to bottom. Initially those squishy silver streaks were deep purple, stretched from waist to knee (backside, side-sides, and inside thigh), and made me look like I'd been attacked by HellCat...but eventually they faded into the perfect display for cellulite. *Scratch*Bumpy Fat Pocket*Scratch*Bumpy Fat Pocket*Scratch*.
I'll get to the belly in a minute, but first: the perpetually smiling man face on my body. Seriously, people, picture it: Nipple, Nipple, Belly Button, C-Smile. 2 C-sections, remember? Admittedly, I'd rather have my children yanked from a gaping incision in my abdomen than press my spawn through my gaping vagina, but still...I'm stuck with a (keyloided!) belly smile for life. And even better than that? Eyeball, eyeball, nose, mouth...and GOATEE!!! Yes, ladies, every time I look in the mirror, a hairy man's face is smiling stupidly right back at me. My pubes are positioned and groomed just right to serve as a straggly goatee on his chin. I'd shave it all off if it weren't for the fact that I've TRIED that, and instead of a goatee, it becomes a VERY cleft chin. HORRIBLE.
Since I'm moving toward the belly, how's-about that belly button? What belly button? You mean the one that stretched flat and then protruded with my last two babies? Yup, that's the one. I used to have an innie. My sister told me the other day that now I have an outtie. She is mistaken, and sorely so: I have a HOODIE. Yes, a hoodie. A veritable hood of over-stretched flesh pulling down over what used to be my cute little innie.
But the belly takes the cake. As massive as I got with Baby in the 1st (55 lbs later) I never had a single stretch mark crop up on my belly, but God is nothing if not eager to humble His children, so He made up for it - and then some - with Baby in the 2nd. OH MY FRICKIN' WORD. I didn't know my belly could GET that big. But then it, too, deflated...and that sexy flat tummy is never ever ever coming back. Even with surgery. (Which, by the way, would require them to open my abdomen, fold back my flesh, cinch my abdominal muscles together like you would with corset ties, hack off excess flesh and sew me back up.) So I have the perpetual baby bump in the front. You know, that bump that every woman who has borne a baby has that you wondered about all growing up. ("Why does skinny so-and-so have a little fat belly?" BABIES.) And I don't even need to bring up my youtube video, which, by the way, has over 16000 views. Not a lot, all things considered, but still a healthy number of people watching my child punch a fist into my bread dough belly while they sit in front of their computers. The aforementioned excess skin laps over the top of every pair of pants I own, wobbles dangerously anytime I shiver, shake...or, let's be realistic, WALK, and hangs (much like those things I still call my boobs) like a half-filled water balloon everytime I crawl around after my children. At least it amuses those children. I suppose that's SOMETHING.
Did I mention that, for the first time in my life, I now get ingrown toenails? Thanks, kids. I needed that injury to insult.
Oh, and did I mention my joints will never be the same after Lupus? On a serious note, I'm incredibly grateful that God allowed that to go into remission with # 2, but seriously, my joints creak and pop and basically GIVE OUT like I'm 80. Went to Target with the hub a while back, and just walking, my right knee gave out and I hit the pavement (while a jackass teenage guy in a big truck laughed loudly out the window and yelled something about me being an idiot). Ow. Hurt my knee as much as my ego, bastard kid. Happened once in church, too...I was crossing through a gym-type room on my way home and my left knee went out, hurting my right ankle. A friend leapt to the rescue, but boy, did I feel dumb...and it's all the fault of baby bearing. Lupus. Who GETS that? Geez.
Since I'm moving toward the belly, how's-about that belly button? What belly button? You mean the one that stretched flat and then protruded with my last two babies? Yup, that's the one. I used to have an innie. My sister told me the other day that now I have an outtie. She is mistaken, and sorely so: I have a HOODIE. Yes, a hoodie. A veritable hood of over-stretched flesh pulling down over what used to be my cute little innie.
But the belly takes the cake. As massive as I got with Baby in the 1st (55 lbs later) I never had a single stretch mark crop up on my belly, but God is nothing if not eager to humble His children, so He made up for it - and then some - with Baby in the 2nd. OH MY FRICKIN' WORD. I didn't know my belly could GET that big. But then it, too, deflated...and that sexy flat tummy is never ever ever coming back. Even with surgery. (Which, by the way, would require them to open my abdomen, fold back my flesh, cinch my abdominal muscles together like you would with corset ties, hack off excess flesh and sew me back up.) So I have the perpetual baby bump in the front. You know, that bump that every woman who has borne a baby has that you wondered about all growing up. ("Why does skinny so-and-so have a little fat belly?" BABIES.) And I don't even need to bring up my youtube video, which, by the way, has over 16000 views. Not a lot, all things considered, but still a healthy number of people watching my child punch a fist into my bread dough belly while they sit in front of their computers. The aforementioned excess skin laps over the top of every pair of pants I own, wobbles dangerously anytime I shiver, shake...or, let's be realistic, WALK, and hangs (much like those things I still call my boobs) like a half-filled water balloon everytime I crawl around after my children. At least it amuses those children. I suppose that's SOMETHING.
Did I mention that, for the first time in my life, I now get ingrown toenails? Thanks, kids. I needed that injury to insult.
Oh, and did I mention my joints will never be the same after Lupus? On a serious note, I'm incredibly grateful that God allowed that to go into remission with # 2, but seriously, my joints creak and pop and basically GIVE OUT like I'm 80. Went to Target with the hub a while back, and just walking, my right knee gave out and I hit the pavement (while a jackass teenage guy in a big truck laughed loudly out the window and yelled something about me being an idiot). Ow. Hurt my knee as much as my ego, bastard kid. Happened once in church, too...I was crossing through a gym-type room on my way home and my left knee went out, hurting my right ankle. A friend leapt to the rescue, but boy, did I feel dumb...and it's all the fault of baby bearing. Lupus. Who GETS that? Geez.
So, post-baby body bites the big one. If you have babies, at least you're not alone in your post-baby body depression, but if you are currently sans-babes, count yourself blessed...at least in that realm. They're great and they're worth it, of course, but holy frickin' cow, I'm a mess. And I look like a candle that melted into ripples...particularly as the weight comes off. Fab.
Hey, honey, come here and knock me up again, will you? I want to see how much more damage I can do! (Grumble, grumble, grumble, grumble...)
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