Twitchy Uterus? Lay down, the feeling will pass.

Thirteen years ago I was very pregnant and very miserable. I measured 52 inches around my waist. I could not touch my hands in front of my belly. I could not drive a car because I could not reach the steering wheel. I had to sit sideways at the dinner table to try and get food in my mouth. Usually I was unsuccessful as most of the food landed on the eclipse that had replaced my midsection, so it is beyond me how I gained over 75 pounds.

That’s right…I was a whole lotta gal. Please don’t say, “But Jess, you were having twins” Dude, they were just over 5 pounds each. Minus the placentas and some blood volume and the rest was ALL me. I remember looking in the mirror and thinking how great my ass looked, but in reality when you are comparing an apple to a watermelon of course the apple looks small. It’s all relative. In reality my ass was in no way great, cute, small or comparable to an apple. Trust me.

When I see a pregnant woman, my uterus twitches and I can feel my ovaries shooting out eggs like a machine gun.  I force myself to remember how horrific it was and that I was the worst pregnant person. EVER.

Then the feeling passes.

I see these itty bitty women with their cute designer jeans and fashionable baby bumps and wonder how they do it. How do they look so good? ‘Baby by Chanel’ my ass. I was not glowing. I was not happy mom to be. I was a bitchy baby condominium complex and couldn’t wait for them to be out. Stretch marks covered me like a road map to hell, my offensively huge boobs rested just under my chin and the inability to landscape beyond the 'cut and pray' method left me less than jovial. I truly cannot believe Dylan stuck around.

Poor guy, every time I was hungry he ate too. Except when I thought I was starving, I would take one bite and be done. Oooh, am I stuffed!

Dylan however, would finish his meal…and mine, only to have the entire scenario repeated in one hour. He gained a ‘little’ weight. Then his breathing annoyed me. And his chewing.

A girlfriend took me maternity clothes shopping when I was about 15 weeks pregnant. We still did not know there were two of them in there and after trying on some less than fashion forward clothing; I loudly announced I didn’t think I would need maternity clothes after all. Other women in the store shot me dirty looks, others smiled sympathetically. Whatever, I was going to be one of those women who barely showed and who would look so super cute in baggy overalls. Yes I said overalls, it was ‘the thing’ and I was cool. Turns out, not only did I need maternity clothes, but perhaps would have been better off shopping at Moo-Moo’s R Us and I should have invested in some better shoes as my Birkenstocks could no longer hold in my fat Freddy Flintstone feet in the dead of a Canadian winter.

Yes, I also just said Birkenstocks. Zip it.

The same girlfriend that took me maternity clothes shopping was with me when I packed my hospital bag. I couldn’t understand why she was laughing, like pee her pants laughing, when I packed my size 4 pre-preggo pants to wear home from the hospital.  I finally understood her laughter when after they were born I felt my stomach in a panic and demanded they had forgotten one in there. Umm, hello why do I still look 6 months pregnant? It appears you forgot a human inside of me…can you get on that please? I have cute jeans to wear home. 

I wore maternity clothes for a good 9 months. Hell, I still pull them out for big dinners…them my eatin’ pants.

But as I reminisce 13 years later I realize I would do it all again in a heartbeat. What we go through as mother’s turns our bodies into badges of honor. For crying out loud, I built humans. Really, what am I going to do in my life that is bigger or more important than that? 

What? I won the Nobel Peace Prize? Just send it in the mail, I am busy adding eyelashes to the fully functioning eyeballs I whipped up yesterday morning. I promise I will put it on the shelf next to the picture of the PERSON I assembled.

Seriously, what other time in your life will you wake up and be able to have a to-do list that includes:

·      Grocery shop

·      Car oil change

·      Build human brain

·      Pay bills

·      Turn vegetables into pumping heart.

In ten short days, I will be the mother of teenagers. Official teenagers. They are so excited it’s like the second coming of Christ around here.

It is a right of passage. For them and for me. For me because I can celebrate I haven't killed them yet, but mostly for them as they look toward the future ahead of them filled with endless possibilities.

My pregnancy from hell was worth every second for my beloved basement trolls. Although I need to admit to you all that most days I have no idea what I am doing now. Sometimes it still feels like I am playing house or caught in the middle of a twisted TV drama.

Quiet on the set. Take 500000, and action…

When I hear them calling me over and over again,

Mom. Mommy. Mother.

I often catch myself looking around thinking, “Geesh, where is that kids mother?”

Oh shit, that’s me. I am the mom.

I have the stretch marks and empty wine bottles to prove it.

xoJ