My pre-baby self was always clucky. I would watch other mums, tiny chubby arms draped around their necks, starfish hands rested on their chests as they chatted amongst themselves whilst their older children played in the park. I wondered what they were talking about; probably how lovely it is to be a mummy! I saw their tired tummys, slightly looser than their pre baby shape at a guess, and their tired eyes, sometimes a few grey hairs highlighting their natural tones. Yet their creased smiles marked by lines etched in after thousands and thousands of happy smiles and laughs made it definite to me that whatever having a baby did to their body’s, however they might have changed, it was worth it. I would look down at my taught belly fresh from a gym workout and think I would trade it in for a saggier version any day to be holding my own baby in my arms.
Upon becoming pregnant with our first child, a real surprise and such and amazing time for us, I hoped to soon be covered in “the glow”. I had heard it many times before, and seen it too! Women, pregnant women, with beautiful glowing skin, rose pink cheeks and relaxed faces, failing to mask their inner joy that they were expecting. Well I certainly wan’t expecting my skin to tun to s**t (for lack of a better word). I had been lucky to escape pimples for the most part of my pubescent years, and now an adult, me in my mid 20’s, I had red spots adorning my once pristine cheeks. I looked like a teenager! One who liked pizzas and fizzy drinks a little too much. The red rash stayed throughout the pregnancy, and is still with me even now, 5 years on and 3 kiddies later. Must be a hormonal thing, I keep telling myself that anyway. My doctor tells me there is cream I can use, but not whilst pregnant or breastfeeding, so yes I am stuck with my own version of “rosy” cheeks.
To tell the truth, I never minded my skin being crappy, I know its because I have been given the greatest gift of all, being a mummy to my three amazing kids. Mind you, combine my terrible skin with my limp due to painful leg cramps with my third pregnancy and I must have looked a strange sight hobbling after my two girls with a huge belly preventing me from scooping them up into my arms, reliant on my voice to command them to not venture too far.
As I continued to have children I realised that there was more unexpected body changes I had not signed up for. I understood the whole getting big thing, and whilst I was lucky to escape stretch marks (I invested well in moisturiser), I did end up with scars. Sure, having a door cut into my abdomen to bring my babies into the world is a rough gig. Getting a baby out any way would be a tough time. But I thought I had escaped the yucky stuff that can happen to your lady parts when you push a baby out from there. Apparently not, no I bled like the best of them, so severe with my first I was readmitted to hospital and treated for a secondary post par-tum haemorrhage. Then one day whilst nursing our first baby and catching up with a friend who had a natural birth I was placed the question, “Does sex hurt after a Caesar?”. Finally it clicked, those mums weren’t idly chatting about how lovely their kids were, they were checking in with their war stories, shuddering away the indignations suffered for their childbearing.
“Umm, well yes actually, ” I replied, astonished myself. It was only last week, after chatting with my doctor about various “problems” that I realised how much carrying a baby does to your body. She explains, “You didn’t push the baby out of your bum but you still got haemorrhoids.” Wow that wasn’t a conversation I was expecting to be part of at 30!
At our anti-natal classes prior to the birth of our first child, we were told we check our dignity at the door when we give birth, and don’t I know it. I had to ask the midwives to check I hadn’t crapped myself after our third baby was born, it was all warm and gooey down there and I could hardly feel my legs, it was a mess to say the least. Thankfully she sweetly advised me I hadn’t soiled myself. Conversations I never thought I’d have, especially with my husband standing beside me. Although he did high 5 me when on day 2 after birth I managed to do a poo! I’ve obviously become more immune to these types of conversations since our first child was born when I clearly remember being embarrassed buzzing the nurses to ask them to please clean me up as I had just vomited all over their sponge bath job from only minutes earlier.
Now I look at my scar that has healed, and I admire the brilliance of our obstetricians handy-work leaving a minimal “pouch” for having had three caesareans. My skin rash has begun to fade ever so slightly, and I am currently nursing a cut nipple courtesy of our teething 7 month old. Each time I brush my hair I watch more than usual fall out due to breastfeeding only to be replaced by tiny “baby hair” that gives me a really weird fringe (I’m currently a fan of large headbands!). I arch my back after a day of bending down to the level of my little people and realise my back will likely be out of alignment for the foreseeable future as I wrangle my kids in varying configurations on my hip, wearing them on my back, side and/or front or all three. But I also notice I have those smile lines now etched on my face. I know they are there because of thousands and thousands of smiles and laughs since becoming a mummy. And I really wouldn’t trade any of it, because now I have tiny chubby arms draped around my neck, starfish hands in my palms and three beautiful kids who call me “Mummy”.
So that’s the “glow?” I’ve helped raise two kids, but their mother never mentioned wanting to experience the “glow.” Maybe someone tipped her off in advance as to all that this glow included. I’ve heard women say that if there is such a thing as reincarnation, they want to come back as a man, but I’ve never heard a man say the reverse. I think you’ve clearly laid out why. 🙂 Good post.