I Miss When My Body was *Mine*

I suppose I should NSFW tag this? I’m not going to get pornographic or anything, but there’s a strong sexual implication. Probably like PG-13. Oh, who am I kidding? The language I use, this whole blog is probably PG-13 at least.

I’ve been wanting to write this for a while, so I probably better get to it before my youngest is too old and I don’t remember these feelings while they’re “fresh.”

I miss my old body. And I don’t mean that in a “Sexually appealing or attractive” way. I know loads of writing exists about how the post-birth body of a woman isn’t as attractive but it’s just so worth it because being a mother is a miracle and blah blah blah. Not what I mean. (Although… sure. That, too.) In my life, I’ve usually only used my body for selfish needs. It is mine, after all. Or at least it was. Until I had kids. And now I’m a walking milk truck.

When I was pregnant I used to joke that I was no longer important. I am just the vessel.

I used to love to be touched by my husband. And not just dirty ways; I’m an uber affectionate person. But now I have at least one, mostly two, occasionally three little people attached to me 24/7. I’m literally writing this while my 2 year old plays with her dinosaur on my lap. I am not starved for affection. But my body isn’t his anymore, either. And, while I obviously wouldn’t trade it for the world, I do still miss it.

I miss the wardrobe.

I miss dressing for him; Those low cut shirts I’d wear to bare a little cleavage for him. Because now I dress based on what’s easiest to pull up and let the baby nurse discretely. I miss wearing the lacy push up bras that make me look like I have the same 20 year old boobs I used to have. Now I cycle through the same 4 nursing bras who’s pattern and colors vary from nude to white to nude and white. (Fancy!) And those stupid bras cost more than my pretty Victoria’s Secret bras, too. And, even though they claim to be “push up” they still reveal my boobs to basically be water balloons being held up by the tie.

I miss the loose flowy shirts that hide all kinds of body flaws and are supposed to make you look like a fluttery, graceful angel. Because I bend down to pick up my kids or my kids’ messes all the time. And those fall forward very easily and BAM there’s my water balloon boobies. Or I’m carrying a baby who just loves to grab onto my shirt and accidentally pulls it down. And again, BAM bewbs. I miss short shorts and skirts. Because same principle but instead of boobs; butt. Or worse; a Sharon Stone moment. Ew.

And I miss nice clothes.

So, a running theme in my life is that I don’t do laundry well. (I’ve talked about how I’m not a “natural” at this whole house wife thing, right?) So the way for this girl to have nice things is just not mess them up in the first place. Now I’m a mom of three under 5. So… everyone get the cruel joke in that statement? I’m potty training one, one is going through a big paint phase and the last is still young enough to spit up. And she does. Frequently.  There’s never really a guaranteed time of day that I don’t smell faintly of pee, paint and/or spoiled milk.

I miss the abuse.

There was  time when the marks on my body weren’t mostly mysteries. Or marks that came from something fun. I used to get bruises from rock climbing. Now they’re from my kids throwing things at me. I used to get bloody noses from traveling someplace with dry weather. Now I get them from a baby who accidentally head butts me. I miss the welts I used to get from paint ball. Now I get welts from my kids squirming when I try to put rubber bands in their hair and I snap myself. I used to get hickeys. … Ok, no. I don’t miss that.

I miss the food.

Eating used to be a joy for me. We used to eat carefully planned meals that were delightful to my pallet. Now, rather than making 4 meals, I make bland food that my bratty kids will (sometimes) eat. I make them eat what we eat, it’s not that I don’t do that. But it’s kinda jacked up to give a 2 year old super spicy foods. So I make my foods less spicy. And less good. I used to eat complicated meals where I spent hours in the kitchen cooking from scratch. I love cooking! Now it’s all semi-homemade. I just don’t have the time for ALL homemade. I used to make myself fresh and tasty lunches. Now I eat the cold mac n cheese and chicken nuggets they don’t finish.

The point is, as a mom you surrender your body in so many ways. Sometimes you just have to be the bruised, gross, sloppy-clothed, no secret hickies mom.

It’s only temporary, right?

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