The Post-Baby Body Battle

Nine months up, nine months down is a good mantra, but it's easier said than believed.

by Meagan Francis

Last night I went to Target to pick up a few nursing bras to fit my magical new "OhmyGod-where-did-THESE-come-from" dimensions. On my way to the lingerie section, I passed the women's clothing section and had this conversation with myself:

"You should go try a pair of pants on." a voice from deep within the not-very-smart part of my brain suggested.

"Why would I do THAT? They're not going to fit anyway."

"But aren't you curious about what size you are now? I mean, maybe you're back in your old size... Shouldn't you check and see?" the voice said seductively.

"Well...I guess. I mean, it couldn't hurt, right?"



Suffice it to say, I am not back in my old size. Not even close. And though deep down I knew that the idea that I could have somehow shed nine months' worth of pregnancy gain in a mere three weeks was insane, I still allowed myself to have a glimmer of hope that the impossible might have happened this time.

Instead, I wound up stuffing myself back into a pair of maternity jeans, hanging a half-dozen pair of rejected pants in single-digit sizes on the dressing-room rack, and heading for the nursing bra section.

I know, I know--I just had a baby, and it's going to be some time before any of my old stuff fits again. And really, I'm okay with that. After five kids, I know better than to expect the weight to just melt off.

And even as the numbers on the scale eventually come down (assuming they do), the padding that remains winds up distributed unevenly across the body. I'm not that much heavier now than I was 10 months ago, but my midsection is completely different. It's hard to know how much of that will change in time and how much is permanent.

In the meanwhile, I'm down to some rather unappealing fashion options. Sure, my maternity jeans are stylish enough and they fit comfortably, but that stretchy panel doesn't exactly hold in my excess tummy. Regular tops fit, but I have to make peace with a shriveled, deflated lump of abdominal skin showing clearly through the fabric.

Then there are those breastfeeding bosoms, in all their much-larger-than-normal glory. For some women (like myself) the new cleavage is a plus; for the ones who end up looking like Dolly Parton, a cruel joke. A busty friend of mine has to order her J-size bras online and then convert them into nursing bras herself with a sewing machine.

And let's not even get started on swimsuits. Tankinis, for some reason hailed as a flattering choice for moms, actually showcase the one inch of my body I want to hide above all else. What I'm looking for is a knee-length dress made of swimsuit material, or maybe one of those beach getups that women wore at the turn of the century, complete with pantaloons.

But this time around, I think I'm learning not to rush it. If I wear maternity clothes for the next four months, so be it. If my beach attire consists of a sarong wrapped around my entire body this year, oh well. If passersby ask me when my baby is due, I'll smile and try not to punch them.

Eventually, I'll get there. And in the meanwhile, who am I trying to impress, anyway? The aftermath of pregnancy may not be pretty, but it's testament to the incredible work my body has done to bring new life into the world. I don't have to love it, but I'm at least trying not to let it bring me down.

Considering the state of the economy, I guess I can just look at it as a really good incentive for not spending a bunch of money on clothes. And in the meanwhile, maybe I'll adjust all my mirrors to show me from the chest up.

These days, I'm really liking that view.