There once was a girl named Dawn.
She had skinny legs that were long.
Her tummy was taught, her buttocks was hot,
Her body was toned and strong.
...Two kids later...
There is a mother named Mom.
Her full, nursing breasts are the bomb.
The sway of her hips, and the way her sides dip,
Ensure baby's deep sleep carries on.
Big Belly Dreams
When I was first pregnant, and I made it into my second trimester without complications, I couldn't wait for my body to change. I desperately wanted a round belly and full breasts. I wanted to display the pregnant waddle and use my bulbous stomach as a shelf for drinks and snacks (I had seen my sister do this with her first baby and in my opinion it was one of the biggest perks of pregnancy).
Two kids later and I have discovered that some of those pregnancy changes are pretty permanent, short of plastic surgery. This can be seen in a plethora of stretch marks, a spattering of spider veins, breasts that have lost their perk, and hips that refuse to return to their previous denim size... and that belly I so desperately wanted, well it's still there.
I could turn this into a beautiful, revelation entry about how wondrous it is that I made two really incredible human beings, and the awesomeness and strength of my body. But you know what? I'm just going to leave that for another time.
Because in the last week I have finally and officially given up on ever fitting into my pre-pregnancy jeans. I have purged the size small dresses from my closet and gotten rid of my sexy, little skirts that sit low and give me a muffin top the Pillsbury Doughboy would be envious of. Anything with the letter "S" on the tag is gone, I have accepted that my new letter is "M." M is for Medium. M is for Metamorphose. M is for Mad. M is for Mom.
I could go on about the failings of my figure after carrying and birthing two babies and the unfairness of bodily alterations that cannot be undone (my feet are half a size larger for sobbing out loud!). I could go on about these things, but I don't have time. I have to put on a bra that squishes my floppy breasts into a uni-boob, pants that give me both a wedgie and a camel toe, and sneakers that are so big it looks like I have clown feet, and get myself to the gym. So I can run on a treadmill next to a girl who looks like she just stepped out of a Victoria's Secret catalog and sweat off the third helping of mac and cheese I ate yesterday and the M & M's I ate that I found in the bottom of my purse. Oh the joys of becoming a mom.