We’ll get back to tales of Harrison, McFatty Monday is starting with the New Year, & I am pretty sure that once I go back to work, you’ll be begging me to stop writing.  Until then, this is my current mental status, like it or not (I, personally, loathe it).  I’ve had a few people email me, asking me to broach this subject which I have danced around a wee bit both here & here.  Because they’re also going through it & it’s nice not to be alone.  Misery loves company.  But I’ve never really hit full-on in-the-face without holding back.  & although I shall try mightily, I’m not sure I will succeed.  Because it’s tough.  Kind of like when you admit to the universe that you absolutely, 100% do not know how to dress yourself

You know that awful place where you go running to Facebook every 15 minutes after a party or holiday, just to make bloody sure nobody tagged you in a picture?  Where you tell your kid to just hold the bottle himself because OH MY GOD, what if your cousin put up one of those pictures from Christmas morning where you’re in yoga pants with a local brewery t-shirt that used to fit back when you were 40 lbs lighter?!  & people are all, Wow! Blair really does like her beer but come on, sweetie, lay off the hops because they are LOADED WITH CALORIES.  & sometimes, you lie awake at 11:30 at night wondering if the person behind you in line at Target knew you were still wearing maternity pants even though maternity leave is pretty much over?

In the words of the State Farm commercial….I’M THERE.

So let’s talk about postpartum.  It sucks.  Every pregnant woman envisions the weight falling off beautifully with folks whispering in the back pew of church, “How did she do it?!”  They envision perfectly applied make-up, highlighting the glow of “I just had a baby!”  Sure, some mothers manage it.  But let me blow the lid right off – THEY ARE FREAKS OF NATURE.  They are not normal.  They might even be aliens.  Let me tell you, folks…that “glow?”  It’s the light reflecting off glazed eyes that are constantly watering with hormones & WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?! I was bruised in places that I didn’t know could bruise (the inside of my wrist & the bottom of my arse cheeks), & I’m not convinced that Harrison didn’t shatter part of my pubic bone.  I bled off & on for 9 weeks.  Sometimes like a stuck pig when I was least expecting it..like grocery shopping at 5 weeks when I thought the lochia was done & then WHAM! I’m running out of the grocery store like a twelve-year-old, hoping the popular boys don’t see the stain on my pants.  I thankfully escaped hemorrhoids during birth (’twas a miracle) only to be greeted by internal hemmies two weeks after delivery (after speaking to friends, this is surprisingly very common & unfortunate).  I only just got my wedding band back on two weeks ago, but I still have cankles from the swelling.  I have stretch marks on my knees.  I look like Nate took a cat-o-nine tails to my hips.  & the joy of my stomach deflating so quickly has been completely sucker-punched out of me because honestly…after the first week, it didn’t get much better.  & there is a spare tire of skin that spans about 2 feet from my upper thighs to my ribs, adding several inches to my girth in pure rubbery skin & lard.  & just when you get comfortable in the “mom uniform” of horribly fitting jeans & t-shirts, you realize —   I go back to work in two weeks.  Which means looking presentable in clothes that fit.

I thought motherhood would make me want to roar out to the universe how incredibly awesome I am because I created 8 lbs of life & then pushed it out of something the size of a small fruit, but to be completely frank, I have not felt this uncharacteristically self-conscious & timid since sophomore year of high school.

Like I said, it’s tough.  I look at Harrison & know that what I did this past year that caused this horrendous body is noble, beautiful, & miraculous.  I should look in the mirror with my chin up, knowing that I CREATED LIFE.  I don’t consider myself a brood mare for Nate’s male urge to populate Earth, but I did what I was built to do.  What I was intended to do.  & I did it well.  That should make me feel like freakin’ Superwoman, no?   Maybe it’s the down of coming off the high of pregnancy — minus the swelling, I felt beautiful when I was pregnant.  Even with stretch marks & a vastly spread rear, I felt incredibly gorgeous.  But now when I look in the mirror, I can’t help but want to cry.

It’s not just that I’m “bigger.”  It’s that my body is 100% completely unrecognizable in both shape, texture, & mass.  The belly is best described by my girlfriend Lala, who has long stated that a postpartum belly looks like a bear took it’s claws & went to town on a deflated balloon.  Instead of wearing a 12/14 in pants, I’m squeezing into an 18.  But I need a long (Jolly Green Giant, remember?).  Good luck finding an 18 long in-store.  & miraculous to find an 18 long on sale, but DAMN, I don’t have $90 to spend on a pair of pants.  Unless I only want one pair.  FRUSTRATION.  & you’d think it would help that Nate still thinks I’m a hot little keg he’d like to tap, but the idea of squeezing into my lingerie makes me want to cringe into a corner.  Because honey, I KNOW you love that little orange silk number from Victoria’s Secret that is reminiscent of J.Lo’s infamous green dress, minus the maxi-length, but it doesn’t fit.  So please stop bringing it up.  If you want to get laid, there are rules — lights dimmed, sheets over me, condom on.

I don’t know if I’ll ever look the same.  Doubtful.  It’s funny, ever since having a baby, I can totally look at someone & know they have birthed a child.  It’s something in the spread of the hips.  Which is terrifying, considering my hips were wide enough prior to Harrison, thankyouverymuch.  & I wonder how long it will take me to accept this, considering it took me a solid 18 years to grasp my previous shape & embrace my height.  The good news is, I think every single person out there hates their body after a baby, unless you’re one of those lucky bitches that actually looks better after a baby.  (we had one of those in my family.  she got Survivor’ed)

Although I will say, there is one fantastic result of having a baby — I NEVER HAVE TO WEAR A BIKINI EVER AGAIN.  Let the Heavens open with praise!  I have a fantastic excuse to never stress myself into 3 scraps & some string during the hot summer days.  Because y’all, I had a baby.  I happily get to cut myself some slack in the bathing suit area.  Gone are the days in March & April where bikini season looms & I eat only one piece of cheese right before I nearly pass out (name that movie).  I fully plan on always wearing a one-piece from this point on & as long as I look athletic, I find that very deliciously soothing.  Silver lining, folks.