I met up with two women recently who pulled me in wildly different directions, self-image-wise. One was a pal from college who found me on Facebook. She's glamorous, beautiful, always up to something you just couldn't imagine yourself doing -- she was our star. Her belly photos, from about a year ago, showed a svelte woman whose tattoos lovingly embraced her bump as the rest of her retained the same pre-pregnancy curves she'd always sported -- a few, only where they should be. "It helps that I'm a personal trainer," she said. "I was doing aerobics until 3 days before I gave birth, no epidural, in my living room." Good Christ. I felt like a slug!
On the other hand, I was getting off the train a few days ago and ran into a very darling woman I'd met in a class, and our due dates are roughly the same. I knew she was "trying" when I took the class with her -- you just have a feeling about these things when you're on hormones! Or maybe I was projecting because we had similar bodies, similar ages, similar marital status (she was a newlywed, I was a newlyengaged at the time, and neither of us was what you'd call a chicken of springtimes). "I mean this in the most loving way, but I'm so glad you're also huge," she said. "I feel like -- what is all this!"
So, you know, maybe I'm not a super amazon woman giving birth in a yurt, but hey. As long as I do my kegels and perineal massage, I'm doing what I can, right? There's as many kinds of bellies as there are kinds of babies.
Okay, and maybe I'll try the prenatal pilates.
Oh, and p.s., upsetting pal? Telling me about your friend's vagina reconstruction after her giant baby birth: NOT NECESSARY.