Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part Two
October 8th 2006 19:32
My husband and I were really enjoying parenthood. For him it was like he joined a club. The Father Hood. Off to work he’d go to bond with the other dads. He never did say exactly what they spoke about but I’m pretty sure, knowing my husband the conversations probably went something like this, “yup I’m a dad (shoves his thumbs through his belt-hooks and puffs out his chest), kid looks just like me (hadn’t his mom said so) and yeah how ‘bout those Yankees.”
On the other hand, for me motherhood made me feel like it was like I was six years old again and back in that dress-up dollhouse corner of Kindergarten. I fed Josh, burped him, diapered him, cuddled him, dressed him in teeny tiny blue and white one piece outfits with conveniently located snaps at the crotch and cuddled him. It was just like it used to be except for being tired (night feedings), worrying about the baby (I inherited the worry gene from my mother and giving birth apparently activated it and set it on continuous), oh yeah and the enormous, sore breasts (one more size bigger and they’d have grown to where no breasts had grown before) and the hanging flesh on my stomach, thighs and ass.
You know right before I gave birth I felt big, as in small spaces and narrow aisles were a challenge big, but after I gave birth that huge bulge that proceeded the rest of me by a foot may have halved in size but like that memory foam they now put into mattresses, the flab that was left hanging around my midsection was just waiting to be re-filled and if I didn’t stop shoving bagels into my mouth because like baby, mommy was also ravenous during 2 A.M. feedings, this time it would puff up full of fat, not baby.
It didn’t help that my sister wanted to know why my Uterus was still so swollen (why don’t we ask the magic 8 ball…why magic 8 ball, why is Donna’s Uterus still so huge when her sister Paula’s was half its size after she gave birth? The answer…Donna’s Uterus was not swollen, just fat.
Meanwhile my husband, who saw me (if he actually looked) wear the same pair of leggings and over-sized shirt (the only things that still fit) every day since I got home from the hospital, thought I looked “fine”. “Do I look fat, I asked?”
“You look fine,” he said.
“What about all this flesh hanging over my pants?”
“It looks fine,” he said.
“Doesn’t my ass look as big as a truck?” I ask.
“It looks fine,” he said.
Guess I look fine. That is if fine means weighing fifteen pounds more than I’ve ever weighed in my life and not being able to look in a mirror without cringing.
On the other hand, for me motherhood made me feel like it was like I was six years old again and back in that dress-up dollhouse corner of Kindergarten. I fed Josh, burped him, diapered him, cuddled him, dressed him in teeny tiny blue and white one piece outfits with conveniently located snaps at the crotch and cuddled him. It was just like it used to be except for being tired (night feedings), worrying about the baby (I inherited the worry gene from my mother and giving birth apparently activated it and set it on continuous), oh yeah and the enormous, sore breasts (one more size bigger and they’d have grown to where no breasts had grown before) and the hanging flesh on my stomach, thighs and ass.
You know right before I gave birth I felt big, as in small spaces and narrow aisles were a challenge big, but after I gave birth that huge bulge that proceeded the rest of me by a foot may have halved in size but like that memory foam they now put into mattresses, the flab that was left hanging around my midsection was just waiting to be re-filled and if I didn’t stop shoving bagels into my mouth because like baby, mommy was also ravenous during 2 A.M. feedings, this time it would puff up full of fat, not baby.
It didn’t help that my sister wanted to know why my Uterus was still so swollen (why don’t we ask the magic 8 ball…why magic 8 ball, why is Donna’s Uterus still so huge when her sister Paula’s was half its size after she gave birth? The answer…Donna’s Uterus was not swollen, just fat.
Meanwhile my husband, who saw me (if he actually looked) wear the same pair of leggings and over-sized shirt (the only things that still fit) every day since I got home from the hospital, thought I looked “fine”. “Do I look fat, I asked?”
“You look fine,” he said.
“What about all this flesh hanging over my pants?”
“It looks fine,” he said.
“Doesn’t my ass look as big as a truck?” I ask.
“It looks fine,” he said.
Guess I look fine. That is if fine means weighing fifteen pounds more than I’ve ever weighed in my life and not being able to look in a mirror without cringing.
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