Hips don't lie..

Time is not being kind to me, my friends. When people tell you that your body will never be the same after a baby, do yourself a HUGE favor and don't poo-poo it under the assumption that you're young and bounce back easily, because before you know it 30 creeps up really fast and the inevitable aging only feels/looks worse with bags under your eyes and under-maintained (see- frizzy and unmanageable) tresses.

Listen loud and clear anyone who happens to be reading this.. YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.. Even if you think you look the same, or perhaps even fit into your size 4 jeans a few weeks postpartum, you will never be the same again.

After having a baby, you'll hear many people say 'aren't you glad to have your body back to yourself again?'.. This my friends is a lie, because even if you are not at the beck and call of a hungry baby lookin' for a quick boobie fix (i.e. you are breastfeeding, which I HIGHLY recommend by the way), I am pretty sure at no point in your adulthood did having control of your own body include vomiting, slobbering or peeing or pooping on yourself at an point, but having a baby makes all of those things happen, often and without a second thought.

So, yes while there is no longer a little person high-jacking your uterus, kicking you in the ribs, and making it hard to stomach just about anything, suddenly you have a little person who is pretty much a cute ball of mush just full of bodily fluids that they cannot wait to share with you, get onto your clothes, down your shirt or in your hair.

Ok, picture this..Not only am I overtired for lack of any sleep at all and weepy from all the fabulous hormones surging about my overworked body, I have my first big event coming up today..Meaning me, Isabel and my husband are going out for one of the first times that's not to the pediatricians office.. I think to myself, 'dammit come hell or high water you I will look like the mommy whose got it together', just like the ones on TV that pushed a baby out with no drugs, three pushes and a few little squeaks of discomfort and then strolled gallantly out of the hospital with baby in arms, at a glorious size 2, perfect makeup and glowing postpartum skin.. So, off to my closet I go with my hopes and head held high, I fling open the doors and gaze at all of the clothes I haven't so much as glanced at, not to mention attempted to even put on in over 4 months..

'Hello, friends' I mutter as I pull out my most comfy pair of jeans, the ones that were a little baggier on my pre-baby figure but because the scale hasn't come all the way back down again, I'm pretty sure I am not ready for my skinny jeans just yet. Along with my super non-maternity jeans (yay), I grabbed my first post-baby non maternity, non-baby doll, non-tie backed shirt to put on and I victoriously tore my clothes off and began my adventure as hip-stylish new mommy!

Wait, what?! I can't.. I mean, I can, but I can't clothes them all the way.. hop hop hoping around my bedroom, I think "I am getting these freakin' jeans on my body if it's the last things I..'

CRASH, BANG, BOOM! My husband runs hurriedly to the bedroom door to find me on the floor with the jeans stuck around my ankles, the shirt shoved over and barely covering my extremely large new breasts and my faced covered in tears, lots and lots of tears.. He calmly explains to me that he thinks it's gonna take a little longer for me to get back to my pre-baby clothes, and to give myself a break, but also nicely reminds me that we need to hit the road asap in order to be remotely on time, and we still have to dress the baby and get her in her car seat which is an ordeal in and of itself.

Defeated, I reach backed into my closet and not even half-heartedly and grab what I thought was a cute maternity skirt and a t-shirt out, I layer it over my nude-colored maternity bra (good for quick boob access for nursing, although not in the least bit attractive) and granny panties (the kind that do not dig into my new and oh-so pretty c-section incision scar), and slip a pair of flip-flops onto my un-pedicured toes. I glance at myself in the mirror and sigh, 'this is not what I had envisioned, but it'll have to do'. I smooth my hair, run gloss over my lips and make my way to the babies room to get her dressed.

Upon entering her room, I am once again amazed at the amount of clothing this kid has.. A montage of pink, flowers and frilly polka-dotted dresses, leggings and onesies... My eyes widen with just a mere glance at all of the bows, barrettes and headbands. And right then I glance over to my husband, who now has my little girl in just a diaper lying on her changing table arms flailing and making silly-gurgle noises, and my heart skipped a beat.

I am suddenly reminded why I look the way I do. My breasts are swollen to nourish and feed my daughter. My hips have widened to accommodate her safe exit (although that path remains untraveled) and my belly increased in size in order to keep her safe while her little body was developing into the most beautiful and precious gift that I could have ever asked for.

So, now four months later I am feeling better about myself, although not completely back to the old me. In a way I am glad for this. In these passed few months I have learned that pregnancy and motherhood are pretty amazing, and something I would never want taken away from me.

With each passing day I tell myself that no, these hips do not lie-- I had a baby. But I no longer scrutinize each flaw or criticize myself for not fitting into all my pre-baby duds. I look to the scar from my c-section, the stretch marks and the spit-up as badges of honor, and the outcome is a beautiful and happy baby girl.

And while I never pictured myself as a cargo-pant, tank-top kinda mom, I am pretty sure she doesn't mind.