"You know, funny thing about getting fat is..."
"Pregnant, honey. The word is pregnant. You are pregnant and beautiful."
Whatever. Right now it all feels the same. Last Sunday at church, a darling, newlywed, twentysomething got up to sing a solo. As part of her remarks, she told us how excited she and her sweet husband were to be expecting their first child as she gently patted her perfectly flat belly.
How nice, I thought. She doesn't look like she weighs enough to donate blood. Surely she must be in the very first few weeks of what will become her long, arduous, through the valley of the shadow of death journey into motherhood.
Then she went on to say that they were excited to meet their new baby in April. In April. I'm due in April. I
I try not to compare. I try to not let it get to me. After all, I produce a pretty remarkable product, if a do say so myself. So whatever my body has to do to get that healthy, bright eyed, ten pound baby, bring it on. Even if it does mean ankles the size of tangerines.
So what if come April she'll look like she cut a volleyball in half and tucked it under her blouse, while I'm enduring month two of wearing a tent. So what if she'll button up her jeans right there in the hospital while me and my pizza dough abs will have to slither into maternity denim all summer long. As my wise big sister once put it,
"We are not those people."
Oh, I need to snap out of it. I’m not 24 anymore. I need to hoist myself out of my favorite flopped-on-my-side beached whale position and wear my medical grade compression hose with pride. Yes, I will work my muumuu and make it the must-have wardrobe essential of the season. It’s high time I looked at my stretch marks, not as cosmetic embarrassments, but as battle scars.
And to the victor of the battle: the bootie. Well, two little pink booties if all goes as planned.
Margaret Anderson is a BYU graduate, free lance writer and mother of four small children. You can read more on her blog at www.jamsandpickles.wordpress.com