Posted on | January 24, 2010 | 4 Comments
Having a baby, no matter how you go about it, changes you. Sure, it changes your life, but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about how it actually, physically changes you.
I have never been tiny. I’m not obese, but I usually see about ten to fifteen pounds more than I’d like to when I step on the scale. Gaining weight in pregnancy was difficult for me. I watched the scale like an anorexic teenager. I was meticulous about my weight gain. The books said 25-30 pounds was normal and I came in at 27. I figured if I gained only what was normal, I’d have nothing to worry about and would bounce right back to pre-pregnancy me without any problems. I had no clue.
Sure, I was fortunate in that between having J and breastfeeding, I managed to get back to pre-pregnancy weight in about three months. But that was just the beginning. I knew I’d have the permanent c-section scar, but I didn’t know that I’d have no feeling around that scar for who knows how long. J is 5 months and I still don’t have full feeling there. Not to mention that I lost so much muscle tone I can’t even do ONE regular push up! I’m forced to do the knee push ups that we called “girl push ups” when I was in high school. I was also not prepared for breastfeeding boobs.
I am not, nor have I ever been, a small-chested woman. I have gigantic knockers. At my wedding, one of our (albeit drunk) friends told me “I remember when Husband first met you. He said ‘Wow, your friend LawMomma has really, really big boobs.'” That’s how big they are. During pregnancy, they got even bigger. I was in a double D at the start of this fiasco… by three months pregnant, I had met my new friend the G cup. No, that’s not a typo. They actually make G cups. They even go bigger but I never had to experience that. Well, I never got re-measured because I couldn’t take the humiliation. There’s just something so wrong about a 60-some year old woman cupping my boobs and saying “My, you have a very full bosom.” Sure she got me a great-fitting bra, but was it worth it?
I was anxiously awaiting post-pregnancy for my boobs to “shrink” back to their normal size. I forgot about breastfeeding. For the first few weeks after J was born, it was like waking up in a bowling alley. My boobs weighed 16 pounds each and came with their own zipcodes. They hurt like hell. When I bent over to wash my legs in the shower, they leaked milk. It was horrible. I felt like a juice box when you blow into the straw. I had zero control over when and where these massive faucets would turn on the jets.
Once I got over the initial engorgement, I realized there is a special place in hell for big-breasted breastfeeders. Seriously, your boobs will belong in a bakery. They are no longer anywhere near your rib cage. They may start there but they end up around your waistline. Your nipples seem to stand at attention 24/7, and when pressed to describe the overall look, you really have to admit that your chest is now home to two icing bags. You know the ones I mean, the ones that fancy bakers use with the silver tips? Yeah. That’s what I have tucked into my G cup nursing bra.
So is it any wonder that I find it hard to believe when other new moms talk about post-pregnancy sex? I mean, this is not a body I want to share with anyone. The women who go on and on about their great sex lives post-baby make me sick. First of all, who has the time to have sex EVERY DAY? And second, when you do have the time, how do you not have one ear on the baby and one arm trying to shield your husband from the horror that is now your body? Husband is lucky we’ve had sex at all post-baby! Now I’m sure there are women who just jump right back into the swing of things. They pop out a baby and move right along with life. And kudos to them. But this blog is about being real… and the truth is, there are times when I think I should start scheduling sex on my calendar just to remember that it’s an option. Does that make me a bad wife? Potentially. But I have a 5 month old, I have a giant scar on my abdomen, and my boobs look like a baker’s tool… forgive me if I don’t strap on a bikini and scale a stripper pole for Husband’s enjoyment. (Not that Husband would ever expect that!) For me, it’s about doing what I can and that does not involve daily sex. Judge me if you will.