Your body changes when you’re pregnant, but it ain’t all bad. The other day, I was wondering what happened to my boobs. Actually, I knew where they were—somewhere near my navel. Like birthday balloons the day after all the helium has seeped out. But somewhere about month six, those God-given milk-makers take on a shape like never before. Socks, tissues, and oranges stuffed into your bra can’t hold a candle to the real deal. I never measured the actual circumference of them before or during pregnancy, but I can tell you those suckers can stretch. Two bra sizes easily.
“You have such a glow about you!” I never heard that until I was pregnant. Except the time I had neon clothes under a strobe light at a nightclub. But it was true. My skin was different. It actually looked good. I foolishly assumed the glow of being with child was just from being happy. Sadly, I didn’t gain a lot of happy just being pregnant. Weight, yes. Mounds of happy? Not really. My skin looked shiny. Upon closer examination, I was pretty sure it was just oily skin.
It’s been nine years since I had our second child. Suspiciously, it’s also been nine years since my hair had the thickness, curl, and body I like. My hair grew quickly. Now it has an attitude. It grows when it wants to. If it wants to. When I was pregnant, my hair grew the same way all over my head. Now it comes in zones—okay, so-so, and angry. One side never gets as long as the other, and the curl isn’t even curly. It’s a combo of Bozo the Clown, a wet poodle, and dry angel hair pasta.
I’ve got stretch marks in places where I didn’t know you could get stretch marks, one foot is larger than the other, and I’m sporting a mid-section that is the reason high-waisted Mom jeans sell so well. But really, what else would you expect to happen after housing a bowling ball for almost a year?