It took 28 years for me to get used to and grow into my body. I was comfortable with my weight, I had come to terms with my height, I was familiar with all of the birthmarks I could see, I learned how to buy clothes that fit; in short, I knew my body.
When I was five months pregnant I swore everyone could tell. My belly was HUGE, my hips were wider. At nine months, I looked back and laughed. I was essentially the size of two mating whales. The big ones.
Once I gave birth I eagerly awaited the return to normalcy. I previously blogged about my hair, in addition to that I was looking forward to the belly and "the girls" reassume their regular roles. A lot of people talk about the weight. My problem was not - and still is not - the weight. I was very lucky, I lost the weight within three or four months. In fact, thanks to nursing I lost the weight and a couple extra. And yet, this is not my body. It is like invasion of the body snatchers and they put my brain back in someone else's pod.
I can't figure out my pant size. This is not helped by the fact that low-waisted pants are all the rage. Someone told me the look was called "the muffin". You know, the pouch of skin that poofs out over the top of low-waisted jeans. I don't want a muffin, but I need pants that stay up and apparently no one makes jeans that fall at the waist. These are not to be confused with "mom jeans" that double as a brassiere. I have a brassiere. In fact I have many of all different sizes because I am afraid to throw any old ones out in case at some point my chest decides to get back into its comfort zone.