Four years and saggy boobs later

Warning: this is a body image post. Even worse, it's a mommy bloggy body image post, as if the world needs any more of those. But this isn't a feel-good piece about loving your body just as much post-baby (Because I don't), and it's not about whether children are worth it (because they obviously are if you want them). This is a post about whether our outsides match our insides by accident or design. 

I wrote a bit on this blog about body image during my first pregnancy, four years ago. I celebrated the roundness of first-time pregnancy curves and lamented bodily autonomy from the perspective of a 24-year-old as that gestation progressed. However, I felt no need to revisit those subjects during my second pregnancy as a 28-year-old-- a pregnancy that came to a close with the birth of my beautiful daughter one month ago-- partly because it felt like old hat and partly because I have less time for self-indulgent ramblings in general.

Though I spent nine months wallowing in the **unique and exciting** world of baby-growing as if I were the first woman to discover reproduction during my first pregnancy, I did not write about postpartum recovery after the birth of my son. I do, however, remember feeling attractive seven weeks after his birth, when I went out with some friends for my 25th birthday. I remember getting dressed on that night in a tight, jersey knit Victoria's Secret dress and deciding not-- NOT-- to wear spanx at the last minute. 

I feel all right about my pushing-thirty self right now, but I don't see myself forgoing spanx any time in the near future. I also don't remember feeling so (physically) mommish after Charlie was born. It's possible my memory is failing me, but I can't recall a time when I looked in the mirror and saw what I felt to be a stereotypical mom body back then. Now, it's all I see. My milk-laden boobs are as big as last time, but aren't they a little less pert? I gathered a handful of stretch marks around my hips this time around (a phenomenon I manged to avoid until after my second child's due date. Harrumph.) And the cellulite around my thighs seems to have settled in for an extended stay.

 

Perhaps most noticeably, my skin is distinctly different now in a way I don't recall from four years ago. It feels lovely but looks slightly sad-- soft and a tad bit loose like an elephant made of velvet. I describe it in an affectionate way because I genuinely feel mostly affectionate toward these developments, which brings me to the question I mentioned at the beginning of this post: Is my body (and my attitude towards it) reflective of the position I have embraced in life or an inevitable product of aging? 

I identify at this point in my life primarily as a mother (a title that holds the distinction as the only one I've always known for 100% sure I wanted), and I suspect that I have both subconsciously and consciously tailored my appearance to fit that description. Of course I look more like a mom now with sensibly short, naturally colored hair than I did four years ago with highlighted long layers a la every  underwear model. Of course I am softer and looser now post-pregnancy when I allowed myself to be 5-10 pounds heavier pre-pregnancy because no one wants to snuggle a bony mommy. These things aren't accidents and to complain and delude myself into thinking I am not complicit in my transformation into a 30-year-old mom lady is patently ridiculous. 

I guess what I'm saying is dress for the job you want, and if you're really committed, get fat and saggy for it, too. The snuggle phase only lasts a few years, and I'll be damned if my babies don't have a comfy mommy...

What's that? Ten year high school reunion is in how long now?... Catch ya on the treadmill! ✌️

10 Things I LOVE about Pregnancy

At 35 weeks pregnant, I have to admit that I am starting to get anxious for the end of this experience. It has gotten to the point where I am uncomfortable sitting in one position for too long, my feet tingle when I stand for any length of time, and I take more bathroom breaks than a drunk old man. Still, I have, for the most part, really enjoyed this pregnancy.

You hear a lot about the pitfalls of gestation: morning sickness, heart burn, difficulty sleeping, etc. Not only have I had very few negative physical effects in the past eight months, but I have a much longer list of things that I have genuinely loved about being pregnant. Here are a few:

1. The fingernails
I was never one to spend a lot of time or energy thinking about the everyday health or appearance of my fingernails until I became pregnant, and they started growing like weeds. I swear pregnant fingernails, especially during the first two trimesters, are made from some brilliant, alien substance. They are long, strong, and beautiful. They are extremely difficult to break, but if one does snap off, it will grow back the next day, looking as lovely as ever.

This may seem like a small thing, but it is quite comforting. While the rest of your body is changing and, to some extent, betraying you, it is nice to have ten little allies at the ends of your fingers. The quickness with which they grow also provides an excuse for frequent maintenance and regular manicures; a wonderful way to take some time to yourself and feel pampered and pretty during pregnancy.

2. Reading aloud
When my developing baby's ears supposedly became able to recognize and distinguish voices at 23 weeks gestation, I began reading the Harry Potter series aloud to my belly. At first, I felt a little bit crazy reading to a seemingly empty room, but as I got into the habit, I discovered that it was something I genuinely enjoyed. We are now almost half way through the last book of the series, The Deathly Hallows, which means that I have read some 3,500 pages to my baby before I have even met him. I have found that this ritual makes me feel bonded and motherly towards my baby, and often he moves around and makes me aware of his presence while I read. Which brings me to...

3. Having a constant companion in my belly
Ever since I felt the first fluttering or "quickening" sensations in my belly a few months ago, my unborn baby's movements and kicks have become increasingly more frequent and strong. This might be my favorite part about the whole experience. While it is a sort of strange and foreign feeling at first, it is something that I became very quickly attached to. Before long after feeling the first movements, I was able to distinguish different body parts as they poked out of my belly. Now, when the baby kicks, I can poke him back and feel him respond in kind. It is like having a playmate always with me, and it is wonderful.

4. Sleeping in
No matter how much you sleep when you are pregnant, no one will ever call you lazy or judge you. This is a wonderful thing.

5. People telling me I look phenomenal
People don't generally expect pregnant women to be a fit size two, or to wear full make up all the time, or to rock high heels. Therefore, when a preggo ventures into public looking fairly decent, people are quite impressed.

I have to admit that at this point, I am starting to feel sort of gross. I am ready to go back to my old body and feel genuinely attractive again. However, up until a couple weeks ago, I was still feeling really content with my pregnant body. People constantly told me how beautiful I looked, even when I was kind of icky or had dirty hair. I think this is partially a consequence of lowered expectations for the pregnant set, and partially a result of what I have termed "pregnancy goggles", which focus observers' energy on a big, round belly and full, ample, baby feeding boobies while distracting from things like eye bags, thunder thighs, and *shudder* armpit fat.

6. Nice women
It isn't a secret that it is often difficult for women to immediately feel warm towards other women upon meeting them. Pregnancy changes this. Women see a pregnant lady and think a) This girl is probably not going to sleep with my bf/husband b)I can identify with that, and c) Awwww babies!

The combination of a,b,and c above creates the kind of friendly, warm, immediately accepting women that I have never known before. And they are everywhere! The drugstore check out lady, the other women in waiting rooms in doctors' offices, chicks on the street; they all want to know when I am due, what sex the baby is, and if they can touch my belly. Many don't even ask about the touching thing; they just go for it, because what is more unifying and communal than a new life?

7. The doctor
I have heard some pregnant women complain about the seemingly constant doctor's visits associated with growing a tiny person, but I have really enjoyed mine. For one thing, until I became pregnant, I had not seen a doctor for an overall check-up since before leaving for college in 2004. So, just hearing that I am in good health was a relief. Then, getting ultrasounds, hearing my baby's heartbeat every couple weeks, and learning about his development became things that I really looked forward to. These days, I have weekly doctor's visits and fetal monitoring, all of which increase the excitement of knowing that he is almost here!

8.The presents
Our baby shower was overwhelming, with more gifts than I have ever received at one time in my life. I was so thankful that so many people cared about me and Tony and our baby and wanted to be a part of the process. Then, packages began arriving in the mail with such frequency that it was strange to have a day when a delivery man did not ring the door bell. Unwrapping adorable baby clothes and toys never gets old, and it makes me feel truly loved by my friends and family.

9.Being sober all the time
I came to college in New Orleans partially because I was ready to party. It is no secret that I loved going out and having some drinks. I worked in a bar for quite a while and genuinely loved the Nola bar life style. Still, I was honestly beginning to tire of the whole thing when I got pregnant. The past several months have been a time for me to grow up, mature, and put that period of my life behind me, and being sober for a while is the best way to do that. There are obvious health benefits for myself and my baby associated with not drinking, but I find other benefits as well. I think more rationally when I have not had a drink for a while than when I am going out many times a week. I am also much more emotionally stable now than I was when I was partying all the time, and I am pregnant, so that is saying a lot!

10. Thinking of myself more and more as a mom
I have always know that I wanted to be a mother, but nobody can tell anyone else how it really feels. As my pregnancy has progressed, I have begun to feel closer and closer to my baby. I have definitely become very attached to him while carrying him, and I feel almost like an actual "mom" at this point. I can envision myself years down the road, with young children, acting like a real mother and loving my family unconditionally, and I like what I see.

Sexy Fake Lady Cops Make Me Sad This Year(Halloween Edition)

Several months ago, I wrote a blog entry about pregnant body image, in which I discussed my fondness for my new, curvier figure. I figure now, with hot, young women running around everywhere in barely-there Halloween costumes, is as good a time as any to talk about the flip side of that issue.

I am finding myself to be much more jealous of all the girls in skanky Halloween garb this year than I would have ever expected. However, it is not a simple form of jealousy. It is not that I want to be out in the clubs with my midriff bared, ass cheeks making frequent appearances, drinking with strangers. That is something I haven't really embraced with gusto since 2006 or '07(see picture). I also don't think it has to do with the fact that my husband is spending his nights this Halloween weekend working at the Boot, which is arguably ground zero for way hot, mostly naked college chicks, although I don't think that is helping.

I think my feelings this weekend are stemming more from the fact that my body has completely robbed me of my ability to look sexy. I know that it is doing something amazing, and most of the time I love my big, round belly. I tolerate my gigantic thighs and giggling butt without more than a passing thought, most days. I have certainly not been consumed with worrying about regaining my figure or anything depressing like that. Overall, I think most people would say my disposition about all of pregnancy's physical effects has been overwhelmingly sunny.

But now there are these goddam women everywhere wearing practically nothing. And the fact is that my body in thigh highs and the miniest of "themed" mini dresses would, at the moment, inspire more laughs than swoons.

For me, sexuality and sexiness were things that came into play in various human interactions on a daily basis from the time I reached puberty. I suspect that this is true for most women my age. It is not something we consciously think about, but female sexuality is an extremly powerful thing. Just ask any man, anywhere, ever. So, the inabilty to be, or at least feel, "sexy" is an unfamiliar and frustrating experience, especially at 24 years old.

So, I suppose when it comes down to it, I am not truly "jealous" of all the scantily-clad women who are out celebrating tonight. They are probably going to be cold later on, and they will definitely have hangovers tomorrow. I am, however, envious of the way they clearly feel, like they can conquer any bar line, and therefore the world, with the sheer power of their young, trim bodies. I miss feeling that way, if I am being honest.

I would imagine that every woman who has ever been pregnant has felt this way from time to time. The fact is that a body that is almost done growing a baby sometimes feels like it is more for the baby than for its true owner. And that is ok. I love my son more than I can say. I like pushing back when he kicks my belly and feeling him respond. I like thinking about holding him in two months, hearing him say "mama" a few months later, and watching him take his first steps before we know it. All of these things are worth a few days of glaring at every "sexy traffic director" I see.

But don't expect me to stop glaring. It may be childish; it may be hypocritical, seeing as there isn't much I enjoy more than R-rated dress up. But it is what it is. And I am too tired from growing a CHILD here, people, to control every emotional impulse I have. My slutty Halloween days are almost certainly over, but that doesn't mean I won't be feeling that "conquer the world" sexiness soon. Because I am going to be sexy again before you know it.... Right?

Dreaming of a Fat Christmas

I heard "White Christmas" playing over the sound system in a store today, and it made me unbearably excited. Don't get me wrong; I know it's obscenely early for Christmas music. This year, though, I have legitimate reasons to get giddy at the thought of the approaching holidays.

I am the kind of person who always becomes excited when the Christmas trees appear like magic in the malls. The incessant cycles of the same old Christmas carols in public places don't bother me. I sing the girl parts of "Baby It's Cold Outside" literally every time I hear it, regardless of where I may be located at the time. Something about "Christmas Joy" is just very real to me; always has been. I guess it has to do with the bubbling anticipation of Christmas morning that is built into American children from birth.

This year, I have already begun dealing with a constant bubbling anticipation, but it cannot be blamed on Christmas's approach. My son's due date just happens to be December 29th, adding a whole lot of excitement and intrigue to the holiday season. It's like waiting for a hundred Christmas mornings, and it is constant.

In a lot of ways, waiting for a baby is like waiting for Santa. Whereas children never know what Santa Clause may bring in his sack, I don't know what our baby will bring in his appearance, his personality, or his temperament. I can make educated guesses based on my own and my fiance's traits, much like a child can safely assume that Santa received her list of wishes and acted obligingly. Still, kids never really know until they unwrap their gifts under the tree, and I will not know until I complete what I presume will be a short and relatively painless labor and birth.

So forgive me if, this year, I nearly pee with excitement the first time I hear "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas", or see a house decorated for the holidays, or smell baking gingerbread and hot chocolate. The normal indicators of Christmas's approach all seem like big signs saying "YOUR BABY IS ALMOST HERE!!" to my crazy, pregnant brain.

I'm just glad I am not in Maryland, where I grew up, and where the first snow flurries of the year always put me into an orgiastic, Christmastastic frenzy. This year I would likely run out into the snow, barefoot, belly out, and chase the snowflakes, wild eyed, while screaming "It's beginning to look a lot like BABIES!" into the night. And no one wants to witness that, not even Saint Nick.

Gross Human Rights Violations in Harry Potter's World

I am a HUGE Harry Potter fan. I have read every book in the series numerous times, and I'm the kind of person who gets really upset when people ask stupid questions or discredit the story after only having seen the movies.

Currently, I am in the process of reading the entire series to my unborn child with the hopes that he will be born already loving Harry and the entire cast of wizard characters. Right now, we are partway through "The Goblet of Fire," and I've noticed a few things this time around that I had never really thought about before.

For example, why didn't witches and wizards simply apparate away from the dangers presented by the Death Eaters when Lord Voldemort was at large? How was Hermione allowed to have a time turner in order to get to all of her lessons in "The Prisoner of Azkaban" without Professor Snape being aware of the situation? (If Snape had known, he would have known for sure that Hermione and Harry had had something to do with Sirius Black's escape, rather than simply suspecting them.) Why, if Harry is inextricably linked to Voldemort, does he sometimes see Voldemort's actions in his dreams, but from the point of view of a third party?

All of these questions are unanswerable and not particularly important. However, there is one thing that really bothers me. We all know that the Wizarding World is not always the most progressive or fair place. It's a terrible place for good hearted werewolves like Remus Lupin, Mud Bloods are often discriminated against, and society is constantly on the brink of civil war due to the potential rise of Voldemort. However, even in a flawed society such as this one, how the fuck is a terrible place like Azkaban allowed to be the ONLY wizarding prison?

For those who are not familiar with Azkaban Prison, allow me to briefly explain. Azkaban is where literally every wizard or witch convicted of any crime, regardless of severity, is sent. This prison is guarded by creatures called dementors who feed off of the happiness of human beings and make it really cold all the time. When they are around, nobody is capable of feeling happy. After even a short amount of time, the vast majority of prisoners is driven certifiably insane by the dementors' presence. Even wrongly convicted wizards often loose their will to live while in Azkaban.

Oh, and if they get pissed off or if you do something really bad, they suck the soul out of your body and leave you, a miserable meat shell, to live out the rest of your life without really living.

This shit would never fly in any developed country in the Muggle World. First of all, America is the only first world country that even allows capital punishment anymore. So you'd better bet that England, where Harry Potter is set, would have a serious problem with this whole soul-sucking scenario. Even in America, where frying up and lethally injecting murderers is quite popular in some places, safe guards are put in place in order to protect prisoners from terrible things like dementors.

The eighth amendment to the American constitution forbids what is termed "cruel and unusual punishment" for convicted criminals. There has been extensive debate since the drafting of this amendment as to what constitutes cruel and unusual punishment, as one might expect. However, psychological punishment is fairly widely considered to fall into the category of constitutionally prohibited.

In fact, on several occasions judges have ruled against allowing capital punishment convictions to stand on the grounds that housing a prisoner while he knows that the time of his death is quickly approaching can be considered cruel and/or unusual. How much worse is allowing prisoners to be stored in a place where they are incapable of having happy feelings? Where it is always cold? Where they are constantly being emotionally drained by the creatures guarding them while all the while living in fear of literally losing their souls?

And the Wizarding World does not reserve this punishment for the worst criminals. As far as one can tell from the content of the seven books in the Harry Potter series, all convicted criminals are stored in Azkaban. Hagrid, an innocent man, was sent to Azkaban for a time in "The Chamber of Secrets" after it was wrongly assumed that he had opened the Chamber. As far as I can tell, he didn't even stand trial! The wizarding justice system is allowing the psychological torture of prisoners to the point of insanity without even giving them due process first.

There are gross violations of basic human rights going on in Harry Potter's world. Sometimes I wish I lived there so I could play quidditch and use magic to do my chores, but I'm not sure I feel that way anymore. Who wants to live in a world where, the next time they get busted for disorderly conduct, they have to go through holding in a place where the prison guards might suck our their soul? Not me. Not Anymore.

On Breasts, and Getting Attached to them

I'm not typically a voluptuous woman, and I've never had a problem with that. At a young age I accepted the fact that I simply wasn't going to have hips or big boobs and made do with what I had. My lack of curves was a trade off for the ease with which I always maintained a flat tummy and a god-given ability to tone up without a particularly strenuous exercise regiment. Staying relatively skinny was pretty much my only physical goal, and I never had trouble attracting guys. Life was good.

Then, I suddenly grew boobs this spring, and I knew something was afoot. That was honestly the first thing that made me know I was pregnant. "These things don't belong here," I reasoned, "So I must be knocked up." Turns out I was right, but I did not yet know how attached I would become to my new lady lumps.

As time progressed, I stacked on some other, similarly cushy assets. My butt has a tendency to jiggle when I walk now, and I can physically feel its weight. When I sit down, it's like someone sneaked in a giant, comfy cushion as I was lowering myself into my seat. It is comfortable, which is nice, because I've been warned to enjoy any comfort I can get, while I still can. Aside from that benefit though, is a new found feeling of womanliness that is not familiar for me.

I've never had to force my breasts into a size small blouse before yesterday, and I'm definitely not used to feeling curvy. For now, while my belly is still barely noticeable and my assets fairly new, I am thoroughly enjoying being a more full-figured woman. I often catch myself gazing at my own cleavage. I sometimes give my booty a squeeze when no one is looking. I admit it. I'm already dreading the day I stop breastfeeding and start to lose my new chesticles. It's depressing.

Then again, I know that if I gained this weight without the excuse of a pregnancy, I would be disgusted with myself. I've only gained maybe ten pounds or so, but the weight is evident everywhere from the fun parts, like my chest and butt, to not so fun parts, like my new thunder thighs. Under the circumstances, I have learned to embrace my new upper thighs, which touch when I walk. Any other time, I wouldn't have a moment of it.

I think part of my love for my new body shape is unrelated to the sudden growth of bigger "sexy" parts. It stems from my love for the baby growing inside of me. It's nice that he needs me to grow incredibly awesome boobage and a nice, round booty, but I wouldn't really mind if he required a third arm to sprout out of my chest. Whatever happens to my body now, I can mostly undo in a few months, so it's fine that my little unborn boy is the boss. Not that I could have it any other way, even if I wanted.

Of course, I may just feel less blissful in four months when my belly is huge and swollen, my ankles puff up every day, and I have to pee constantly. You'll just have to check back with me then.

On Being Sober in Bars

When I have occasionally ventured into public since beginning my great pregnancy adventure, there is one question that basically everyone has asked me: How do you like not being able to drink at all?

The truth is, it has been incredibly easy for me. When there is something as important as the health of your child at stake, there is not even a thought process involved aside from, "I am pregnant; I cannot drink." That's it. The simple fact that something truly important is at risk makes it very easy to abstain, even in "drinking establishments".

I have fortunately discovered that I have some great friends whom I enjoy spending time with when I am sober, even when they are drinking heavily. Case in point: Last night I played designated driver for my longtime friends Sarah and John, who moved here just a few days ago, so that they could get properly New Orleans smashed on a Sunday night. Even though they were getting pretty drunk and I was not, I had a wonderful time just hanging out and talking with them. Our friendship is strong and complex enough to overcome little obstacles like a considerable difference in sobriety. It's nice to have friends like that, and I love them wholeheartedly.

Unfortunately, along with that happy discovery has come the realization that I have some friends, at least in name, who I cannot stand to be around unless everyone in the room is hammered, practically.

"College age" people tend to build relationships with their peers while drinking, often to excess. In fact, in recent history, I have considered individuals who I have never even seen sober to be friends. These are people who I have hung out with on countless occasions, and whose secrets I am privy to, but whose sober mannerisms would be completely foreign to me. It seems sort of crazy even writing that down, but I spent my party years in a drinking town, and such are the consequences.

I suppose some drinking buddies are meant to be nothing more than that. Some people have golf buddies, fishing buddies, or even sex buddies. I happen to have some buddies with whom my connection does not go any deeper than our mutual love for jager bombs and other fun shots. And that's ok.

Until it's not. Until I am necessarily sober for nine months, minimum, and suddenly find that the basis for some of my friendly relationships has been extremely tenuous. It is not possible for me to tell someone whom I have recently considered a friend that, to sober me, their obliterated company is borderline tortuous. I am just not that kind of person. So, I guess the next step is to gently and considerately weed out the relationships that have turned out to be, for lack of a better word, shams.

I think that part of growing up is to select the relationships in your life that are healthy and beneficial to your growth and nurture them while moving away from the ones that are not particularly deep or meaningful. At this stage in my life, that apparently means saying goodbye to some of my drinking buddies.

I wish I could have taken the time to learn some of their middle names or maybe see where they lived, but it's time for me to move on.