My husband informed me the other day he had washed a load of
our 4-year-old son's laundry, as well as one pair of my underwear.
"Why the underwear?"
"I thought they were his shorts."
I bought my first granny panties after my C-section, having
read it was better to wear underwear that went above the incision. After four
days of wearing hospital-provided disposable mesh panties, the three packs of massively
oversized underwear were a treat in those first weeks. (Even the weird pastel ones
with blue flowers.) As the scar healed, the parachute-like undies eventually made their
way to the back of my drawer.
Then I got pregnant again and my butt somehow expanded in
perfect synchronicity my belly. I've always had something of a pear-shaped mom
bod, but this began taking me dangerously into Weeble wobble territory.
My little bikini briefs—even the adorable ones with the
Batgirl motif—began creating permawedgies from hell. Just like I refuse to deal
with bunchy socks, I reasoned that life is too short to walk around constantly
picking underwear out of my butt.
I'm a 30-something lady wearing granny panties, and that's just the beginning of my very unsexy pregnancy.
One woman to glance at my cankles in a sundress and gasp, "Oh sweetie, you need to elevate those legs."
Everyone talks about the glow that comes with pregnancy, the
lustrous hair and fuller lips—the sereneness that accompanies the knowledge
that we're nurturing life in our ripening bellies.
What they don't realize is that I'm not so much striding
with confidence over my Mother Earth status but waddling from pain. The
hormone that loosens joints to prepare my body for childbirth, literally called
"relaxin," also causes pelvic aches that I can only imagine are akin to being
kicked in the vagina by a horse.
Unless I wear shoes that are one step away from orthopedics,
I develop sciatic pain that shoots down my right butt cheek and turns the
simplest task into series of groans and grunts.
To alleviate the aches, I took up swimming and, when
parading around in my stretched-out swimsuit and newly purchased goggles, my
husband mumbled something about the Minions under his breath.
My current preference for stretchy pants and long dresses isn't
just due to my expanding mid-section. It's the fact that my predisposition toward
thick legs (remember, mom bod) led one woman to glance at my cankles in a
sundress and gasp, "Oh sweetie, you need to elevate those legs."
Ironically, I reached my healthiest point in the year before getting pregnant (thanks to the MyFitnessPal app), so I was happily
strutting around in slinky pants and being told I looked "skinny" for the first
time in my life. Those 17 pounds I fought so hard to lose jumped right back
just minutes after the embryo implanted.
Which is why it stings a little extra hard when I notice not
one, but three new chin hairs that definitely weren't there yesterday, but
somehow each grew an inch overnight. And it's why, when someone says, "Enjoy these
days because you'll miss them when they're over," I just pop another antacid,
tell the little creature in my belly she's doing just fine and allow myself
another brownie. After all, these days will be over soon.