Meggans a mom.com - Meggans guide to a brighter life

I Double Dog Dare You

A friend recently asked “what effects does pregnancy have on your body?”  This required the putting down of the coffee.  I didn’t really know how to reply.  Sometimes a picture of a dog speaks a thousand words.  

The pre-birth vagina. Proud. Groomed to perfection, on point, able to do tricks, and ready for the show.

The post-birth vagina. Sad, shocked, and more than a little floppier than before.

The post birth stomach...no words necessary.

Big Girl…Small World

In bathrooms across America I have no head.  The mirrors in bathrooms everywhere seemed to be positioned for 7th graders, the cast of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, every woman under 5′ 7″ tall, or Hayden Panettiere.  I have always said, “I am 5′ 10″ in a 5′ 7″ world.  The world fits perfectly if you are 5′7″ tall.  You don’t have bruises permanently raked across your thighs from forever walking into tables.  Door jams don’t pose immediate danger, you don’t have to yell “INCOMING” whenever attempting to enter a Porsche.  If you fall during co-ed soccer people don’t yell “TIMBERRRRR” (thank you high school P.E.) and you don’t check your make-up in the bathroom mirror at a gas station by having to stoop over, as the photo above illustrates.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being tall.  I am trying to wean myself off the self Hatorade so I am not going to sit around and stew in my height while I have two legs to walk around on.  Sure they are covered in bruises from slamming into things and there hasn’t been a pair of  jeans yet that seem to make it all the way to the floor.  I have been trying to make high-water pants cool since 1981.  It is a good thing I don’t have modest ankles, because those baby’s are never covered up.  My ankles bare it all to the world.

When I was growing up I was a gymnast.  Nadia Comaneci was my hero.  While other girls were slobbering over Barbie, or if you were on the early developed side Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains, I spent my days in a white leotard and braids convinced I was a Romanian Olympic gymnast, or Cher’s child that was put of for adoption.  I actually am adopted and I was convinced Cher was my biological Mother,  but that story is for another post.  Mostly I wanted to be Nadia, except that as other little girls stopped growing, I just kept right on heading North to 5′ 10″.

I didn’t mind being taller than say everyone, as a 7th grader.  Sure there were some awkward school dances, and the unfortunate comparisons to a zipper when I stood sideways and stuck my tongue out, but I had bigger worries…like my perm….and the also unfortunate comparisons to a microphone.

All was not lost.  I may of had to give up my dream of being a gymnast, or at least the first 5′ 10″ gymnast, but as one door closes another opens.  I ran track, modeled a bit and eventually filled out in proportion to my up.  In fact, when I was in my high school’s production of A Chorus Line my lovely and supportive gay friend Joel would assure me it was wonderful to be tall and my time would come…for instance his Dad saw A Chorus Line four times and Joel would tell me his Dad said I was the reason he sat in the front row every night.  I can only imagine. 

She stoops to conquer.

Tummy Discrimination and Truckin’ Through Motherhood

“East bound and down, loaded up and truckin’, we’re gonna do what they say can’t be done.  We’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there, I’m east bound just watch ol’ “Bandit” run.”

- Singer Jerry Reed (lyrics from East Bound and Down from the movie Smokey and the Bandit)

Reminds me of Mommyhood.  Too much to do, not enough to do it with, but that ol’ Mommy sure does get it done!

As seen on Monday

 OK, so I have a belt buckle in the shape of an 18-wheeler.  I have had it for years and I love it.  I got it in the Central Valley when I used to live in Los Angeles and drive back and forth between L.A. and Sacramento ALL THE TIME.  I would drive for hours late at night up and down I-5 and it felt like the only people on the road were myself and my roadway brethren, the long haul truckers.   This belt reminds me of those truck drivers and that time in my life.  The above photo is my actual belt buckle when I wore it Monday.

I was feeling particularly ferosh (and trucker tough) so I thought I would do the trucker meets NY fashion outfit.  I had on my trucker belt buckle (see photo above), the latest skinny jeans with my not so skinny body (my first mistake), my Euro cool boots (see a few posts below) and my super hip white Michael Kors man’s watch that the sales girl said I needed because the man’s watch made my wrist look small…sigh.  I thought I looked edgy and hot, but as it turns out it was less hot and more hot mess!

I went in my getty-up outfit to lunch with my toddler Lucas and the entire staff at the restaurant treated us like pariahs.  I thought I had a case of toddler discrimination on my hands.  I have been reading a lot of tongue in cheek blog posts recently about toddler discrimination.  You know, when you go somewhere in public and anyone who has never had a baby or has children over the age of eighteen sees you coming with a toddler and rolls their eyes, runs madly in the other direction, huffs and puffs at the mere sight of you, or hands you some hand sanitizer and the phone number of a good nanny.  I had read about toddler discrimination, but had never really experienced it first hand.  

That was until today. 

Something was up. 

There were sideways glances from the staff, ineffective service, and almost no communication from the server, busser, or manager.  I thought they must be pissed I had a toddler with me, even though this restaurant touts it qualifications as a FAMILY restaurant and Lucas was on his best behavior happily scarfing down croutons dipped in creamy pesto dressing.  Everyone seemed to be doing the restaurant walk by and looking at our table, but not stopping.   I know from YEARS of working in the restaurant industry a restaurant walk-by when I see one.  That is where the staff  ”casually” walks by to get a look at the crazy going on at a table. 

“Go walk by and check out the _______ on table seven.”

Don’t kid a kidder, this ain’t my first rodeo sailor.  I am proficient at the restaurant walk-bys and I know when one has been put into action.

I sat there pondering what could be going on.  What was triggering off the crazy alarms to the staff?  I felt really uncomfortable and asked for my check early so Lucas and I could leave.  It was when I began to pack us up that I realized the true reason for the stares…the belly had gotten out!

Peek-a-boo...I see you

Not only had the belly gotten out, but it had happened to of flopped over my 18-wheeler trucker belt buckle!

OH THE HUMANITY!   The belly had completely buried the top half of the trucker belt like it was buried in snow on top of Donner Summit waiting for the roads to clear.  You can’t even see out the windshield.   

I HAD NO IDEA!!!  My tummy turtle was peeking it’s head out from under it’s shell.  The puppy was poking out from under the covers.   The groundhog had left the burrow signifying that winter will end soon.   I was horrified!  It wasn’t toddler discrimination, it was tummy discrimination.  The restaurant staff had been cruising by to see the belly flung over the trucker belt….white trash at it’s finest.  No shame in my game, like any self respecting Mommy blogger, I whipped out my camera to take a picture.   Add that to the long list of “crazy” already going on at my table.  Can you imagine that conversation among the restaurant staff?

“That woman’s stomach was TOTALLY hanging out over her truck belt buckle AND THEN she got out her camera and took a picture of it!! OMG!”

I felt like those Hollywood starlets who get breast surgeries so intense that they loose all feeling and always seem to get photographed with their tops half way off in the freezing cold, having no idea their nipples are exposed…I am talking to you Tara Reid.  Apparently my pregnancy and BIG 9 lb. 11 oz. baby blew out the tummy so much that I now have no sensation to all the skin left behind.  Now my tummy can just flop around out in public and I have no idea.

Good times.

I thought about explaining the situation or demanding the staff  to call me in ten years after THEY HAVE BABIES and see what their belly looks like, or simply yelling out “ask your Mom about her stomach after YOU ruined her body you assholes,” but I didn’t.  I folded all of me back behind the trucker belt, wiped a tear, had a laugh, scooped up my beautiful and amazing toddler and got ready to keep on truckin’ in Motherhood…belly, baby, boys, and all.