I have one friend who just gave birth six weeks ago, a friend who is pregnant with twins, and another friend who is newly pregnant (I am not allowed to tell anyone about her pregnancy – that’s how new it is). It has got me thinking about my pregnancy and the changes I’ve gone through since giving birth. On a completely superficial level, I’ve been thinking a lot about how much my body has changed.
Some things have returned to normal, but there are still some kinks to iron out. There are ways in which my body may never be the same. I have seen some improvement, but basically, one of the biggest changes I’ve noticed are my boobs.
I know for some women, having two different size boobs was an issue way before pregnancy. This was back in the days when getting boobs was a novelty and there was still hope that they’d get bigger. For me, the situation is dire…far more dire than any female navigating the horrors of puberty.
Here is a visual of what we’re dealing with:
My left boob produces an insignificant amount of milk, or at least that’s what I suspect. Because of this, Liam has little interest nursing on that side. He’ll do it, but only to appease me. Sometimes he just latches, and doesn’t actually nurse. He’ll even look up at me and just laugh until I give up and flip him to the other side. I hope they make a bra with two different cup sizes. I haven’t Googled it yet, but if it hasn’t been invented, I plan to get it patented, and will submit a video to Shark Tank.
I just looked it up. It exists.
It may seem as though my jokes are an attempt to mask the self-hatred I have for my post baby body. This would be considered sacrilege to the baby community, especially since I had a natural home birth. As unbelievable as it may seem, I actually love my body more now than I ever did throughout my twenties…and by “love”, I mean there’s no time to look in the mirror and hate what I see. It’s love by default, which is still love.
I used to spend hours agonizing over my mushy stomach and the various ways in which it would spill over the waist of my Seven7 for all mankind jeans, which were ALWAYS too low on the hips. Lucky for me (and everyone else), I don’t have a high set butt-crack, which can present a problem with low riding pants.
Now that I’m a mom, I just throw on a pair of comfy high-waisted jeans, tuck in my muffin top, and I’m on my way. There’s nothing better. Well, except maybe if I was to wake up one morning to find that my stretch marks had been replaced by some seriously ripped abs. That might be better.