39

Every time I see a new mother pushing her baby in a stroller or carrying the bubs on her person, I have two simultaneous reactions: joy/tenderness, and envy and resentment. And then I usually need to scratch my belly because I do a lot of that now because I've developed itchy skin. Glorious.

I mean, seriously, I just want my baby. Also, I want to know what the damage will be to my body so I can get to work on both accepting it and willing it back into some sort of decent shape. I have particular concerns about my rib cage, as I do not wish myself to be a barrel. Also, my hips have spread and have taken my ass along for the ride, effectively flattening it. My butt is not gone, but it's not as round and I'm interested in some sort of hip shrink wear, as post-birth the body is more malleable and may be my only crack at re-assing myself.

I've started to get small anxieties about being a mother. I know I'm up for it, but it's the finality of the decision that occasionally stuns me. This is permanent. Nothing else in life will ever be as permanent of a choice as this is. You can drop out of school, change jobs, sell a house, get divorced and so on. Having a kid is forever.

It's a weird place in your head. There's still the ME talking loud and clear. How will I get to my hair appointments and still meet my baby's needs/afford hair appointments? What about my social life? What will I look like? But then aside from all that there's the intensity you feel inside. You know you're going to adore your baby and you want to meet him or her now, and know if baby's a him or her. I want to breastfeed, and I don't want to be chained to breastfeeding and I want breastfeeding to go well, and I want my boobs to go back to normal and I don't want to pay for formula and I think pumping will be a pain in the ass. Ah, ambivalence.

My God... On one hand I wish I had other things to write about right now. But really? Try growing a new person inside your body and have the physical symptoms run your life for nine months. After awhile, it's just sort of what your life is about for a good long stint. My conversation hasn't been reduced to only baby talk, at least. But I think my blogging has now become an outlet for this side of my life. I know no other pregnant women. In a weird little prenatal way, this is all I've got.

Vanity

No matter what, I'm pretty sure I'm going to continue to give a massive shit about my vanity. I'm not a gorgeous woman, but I'm pretty enough, in a cute sort of way, and I want to maintain my appearance. My figure has never stopped traffic, but I like my legs and I've always had a nice bum.

What I am faced with post-pregnancy is totally uncertain and my Google searches are littered with queries like "shrinking rib cage after pregnancy," "post natal stomach", and "breasts after weaning". I think they equal the number of searches I've done on actual baby care, antenatal information and fetal growth.

Currently my bum has flattened out. The Dude says he doesn't think it has, but then he'd never tell me the truth about that. I think it shrunk, and not just relative to the size of my belly. I think it's less round. Probably my spreading hips are the culprit. Even my loosest pyjama pants I can't haul up around my buttocks anymore. I hate the thought of going through the rest of my youth with a flat ass. I'll accept it when I'm a senior citizen, but I would really like to enjoy my 30s on a nice rump.

I have no stretch marks (Yet. Knock on wood) and at 37 weeks, that's not too shabby. But oh God, will I have loose skin around my midsection? I can't bear the thought. I was given a Belly Bandit from my cousin and his girlfriend and I fully intend to use it. It's supposed to help the uterus shrink back to normal size in a timely fashion. I'm hoping it'll also do my ribcage a favour, as it's spread about two inches. I'm already short waisted and small breasted. The last thing I need is to be barrel shaped. I'd like to regain some semblance of a waist, something suggesting an hourglass.

I've started to gray, something I mentioned long ago. Hair falls out after pregnancy. You barely lose any for nine months, which in my case has bestowed upon me more hair than I know what to do with, and then after birth you lose everything you retained. Some women get bald patches. My hair is naturally so thick, I'm not terribly concerned about the loss of volume. What I am thinking about is the gray hair. All the hair that falls out could come back white. I could have a salted red head.

And I don't know what kind of baby I'll have and whether he or she will be calm enough to take to the hair salon, which I'll be quite desperate to do should my fears come to light. I could wind up looking like a witch.

And let me just say, the very last thing I'm interested in hearing is how it'll all be worth it. I wouldn't have subjected myself to this had I thought my looks were too precious to risk. They're not. I do think, though, I'm allowed to have conflicting emotions about my bodily changes. I also don't want to hear that I won't care. I'll still be me and, yes, I'll still give a damn what my body looks like.

At least my shoe size hasn't changed. I don't have an extensive collection, but I would be incredibly bummed to have to lose out on ever wearing this pair again:

Of course right now it's winter,
and my feet are too swollen currently to wear them.

IBS, again, and again

Oh man, I am suffering. IBS, that's all. I hate my body sometimes. Some women hate their thighs, I hate my large intestine. I really don't know where it gets off not being a team player.

It kept me up last night, my body aching, my abdomen distended. I have a metallic taste in my mouth. I've been drinking water and peppermint tea all day, and all it's doing for me is making me pee every 75 minutes. I've taken magnesium. I've had a hot bath. I loathe when this happens to me. I always feel so trapped in my skin.

Clothes don't fit as well; my waist is 2.5 inches bigger around. My skin looks puffy. My skin is starting to break out. This is not healthy.

I have other things on my mind, but I can't focus so well lately. Disturbing how much happiness can be disrupted by failures of the body.

The belly

I've been taking belly dance lessons for a year and a half now. A little longer, actually, but consistently for a year and a half. The winter student gala is coming up. I've performed in two of them. The first one was an act of bravery, the second a need for the rush I felt from the first. I don't get many adrenaline rushes in my life, but performing a rather sensual dance with an exposed stomach in front of 400 strangers does the job.

I've been eating a lot of crap. Tasty crap. Fattening crap. I live so close to an amazing cupcake place, the Dude brings home chocolate goodies (his metabolism is a thing of beauty and I'm pretty in awe of it, while hating him at the same time as he wolfs down his second bag of chips in less than 24 hours), and I have no will power, not really.

I used to be a very skinny girl. But when I stopped being a girl, I stopped being skinny. I wish I didn't care. Intellectually I don't care. And if someone else other than me has flesh on their bones I find it pleasing to look at. Aesthetically, I truly believe women look more beautiful if they have more than less. Seeing a very skinny woman does not fill me with envy. So why when I look at myself do I get critical?

When I was in college I drew a lot of nudes, and the fleshy women were a joy to draw. They really glowed, their lines were magnificent and they looked soft and comforting and feminine. The skinny women were good for skeletal studies, but otherwise didn't offer the same enjoyment from a drawing standpoint. The lines were harder and more angular, yet lacking pleasantly muscular lines like men had. It really shaped a lot of what I thought about beauty. Skinny was not doing it for me.

And yet... the satisfaction of buying a small instead of medium, a 6 over and 8, and the sinking in my heart when my arms seem wobble more than before, and my lack of a flat stomach remain.

Regardless, I plan to bare midriff at the gala. Like it or lump it, I'm going to shake and jiggle on stage and feel good about it. Way I figure anyway, despite not feeling totally at peace with my body, it's likely all downhill from here as I get older so I should show off what I do have while I still got it.