Sheila, way back in the way back of late 2010, suggested a post topic, “How did your body change after child birth? What surprised you? What didnâ€™t?” Since I just got done digging out a stack of clothes I am never going to wear again, in preparation for a clothing exchange party tonight, it seems apropos.
(I am going to assume Sheila means not the changes that happen to one’s body directly after child birth because:
2. that’s about it. Lots of blood.
3. milk. Usually.)
First, here is a post I wrote when Trombone was still a baby about pants and post-partum body image and whatnot. There is a cute picture at the end, go look.
When Trombone was 12 months old I went back to work. I needed clothes. I went out and bought new pants, shirts, bras. A month later I got pregnant again and went back to the maternity clothes for another year. I wore my awesome new clothes for one month only. And I have had them in the closet because it is ridiculous and fiscally irresponsible to buy new clothes and wear them for one month, surely someday SOMEDAY I will wear them, but no. No I will not. This is not a case of “if my abs were tighter, those pants would fit.” This is a case of “giant babies spent a total of 18 months inside that pelvis and those hips are not going back to their original size.”
I think if I had stopped after one child, my body might have had a chance to “bounce back” to within a size of its former self. With my first pregnancy, my body had to really work at stretching and stretchingggg and streeeeeetching itself. That’s why I was so itchy. The second time, not so much stretching needed. Not so much bouncing back happening once the stretch is gone.
We play a fun game at our house, where you blow up a balloon and then let it go. Wheeeee! All over the house. Then you blow it up again. The balloon is much easier to blow up the second (and consecutive) time(s). You see?
So now, my childbearing years complete, I find myself with hips that have permanently spread to their current width, breasts that are done, empty, flat, kaput, and a belly button that is more out than in. And giant feet, which I have written about at length (and width! ahahahahaha *sigh*) and will not again, save to say that my feet growing a full size were the thing that surprised me the most.
I still – STILL – insist on trying on size 10 shoes. Just in case. They never fit.
Honestly, pants are easy come easy go. But the loss of all my pretty size 10 shoes really burns me up. I guess I should go get them out of the closet and take them to the clothing exchange party too. And a bottle of wine for the sorrow-drowning.