The Mom Butt’s Cousin

Everyone always talks about the mom butt but that butt ain’t the only thing on the menu. What about the uterine shelf? It’s the butt’s front. You know what I’m talking about. Have you noticed in a lot of women, just below the belly button, it’s not truly a fat roll but like a small shelf that sticks out as if to say, “Hey, uterus was here.”  I think it appears most on small to medium builds but I’m not here to count anyone out.  I’m sure uterine shelves can be available to all ladies.

It’s like your uterus just plopped back on the couch, unbuttoned it’s pants, let out a belch and let it all hang out. Listen, it deserves a break. It grew from the size of the fist to the size of a Thanksgiving turkey TWICE, in my case that is. It’s a needs a vacation from it’s problems…just like Bob Wiley.

It’s weird because I know our uteruses aren’t there anymore but it’s like they left a footprint. It’s like they said to whatever organ is there now, “Hey, hold my place in line. I’ll be back.” Uterine shelves are a real phenomenon so I don’t know why the mom butt gets all the media attention.

Yes, your hips spread out making your butt sort of spread out like warm butter on a hot summery day. This widening of the tail and the enlarging of the belly makes some woman buy pleated acid wash jeans in attempt to cover it all up. Nothing says concealed like a nice 3 yards of denim. This actually makes the butt look bigger and stranger than its other female, never pregnant butt counterparts. It’s awesome. But, so are uterine shelves.

They can’t display anything on them. They can’t be covered up really; even by the mom jeans. If you now what you are looking for, you can spot them from a Target baby aisle away. They aren’t talked about very much but many women have a uterine ledge. A baby shelf. A womb cliff. A fetal diving board….Olympic style ones. A belly button tray. An ovarian dashboard. A midget mantle. A fetal bench. A fallopian freeway. A baby garden garage. A reproductive rack. A booksi bar.

It’s time to talk about the mom butt’s evil twin: uterine ghost shelf. After a baby it’s not party in the front, business in the back. It’s a straight party everywhere. Thank you, uterus. You deserve it. Thanks for being my baby hut.

(throws confetti)

(confetti lands on uterine shelf)

(She feels embarrassed and closes her laptop.)


Bear Your Marks: Appreciating The Body Baby Left Behind

I put the girls down and went to take my nightly shower.  Sometimes a shower feels like the relaxation I’ve needed all day and other times, it’s just one more thing to race to get done before all my alone time is eaten up.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  It’s the body I wondered about when I was 16, toned, and tan.  What would happen to my body after children?  Would I be okay with a body that didn’t have dance practice 15 hours a week like it did in high school?

I see the small scar under my arm on the side of my chest from a cyst I had removed before I got married.  Down further are 4 tiny belly button scars:  2 from the ever fashionable belly ring that adorned my mid-drift starting at 18, a tiny incision from my endometriosis surgery, and the final hole, the belly button itself.  Finally, we get to a hole that was supposed to be there.  To the left of my belly button I see three small stretch marks left from my most recent 8 1/2 pound baby.

It’s funny because I just put to bed two beautiful tiny girls who will grow up and hope they never have cellulite or stretch marks and then in irony, what will help them ground their vanity is sacrificing a nice body for their own children one day like I have given my body to grow theirs inside of me.  All things meaningful in life have a way of trivializing vanity and any other trivial pursuit.

I took my girls to the pool a few weeks ago and it was a pool that I use to wear a too small, hide from your dad type of bikini to.  I hadn’t been there since I was in high school, literally.  I wasn’t there at 2 p.m. after a long 17 year-old summer night…I was there in true “I’m  a mom” status at 10 a.m.  The pool was littered with little kids and moms.  I laughed to myself as I looked around and not a single mom was wearing a two piece.  Everyone was wearing either a one piece or a tankini.  I LOVED it.  I smiled to myself and thought, “That’s right, we are moms and we have babies and wear one pieces!” There is so much depth and comfort in just being okay with doing something better with your life than looking great in a bikini.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my body.  Also, don’t get me wrong, I’m not Maya Angelou in perfect peace and harmony with my figure at all times.  I haven’t risen to the top of the mountain where all things are in perfect perspective with no vanities.  I don’t think I’ll ever stay on the peak even if I reach the top on certain days because I’m too human to stay there.  However, I do, on most days, have a contentment about where my life is because of where my body has taken me, namely, bearing children.  Any mother would tell you that they would stripe their legs with veins and their stomachs with stretch marks to have their children.

If you ask me what I’m most proud of in my life, it’s giving birth.  If you ask me what was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life, it would be a dead heat between marriage and motherhood.  If you ask me what the greatest thing I’ve done in my life is, it would be being a mom.  There is nothing more I could do in 60 more years of life that would change those answers.  Motherhood is my answer to everything. There is a richness in parenting that robs the lure of wordly things.

There is a book called Loving the Little Years and it’s author says it best on this issue.

“Your body is a testimony to the world of God’s design. Carry the extra weight joyfully until you can lose it joyfully. Carry the scars joyfully as you carry the fruit of them. Do not resent the damages that your children left on your body. Just like a guitar mellows and sounds better with age and scratches, so your body can more fully praise God having been used for His purposes.

-Rachel Jankovic

Our bodies were meant for this purpose and if God blesses you with children, it’s the ultimate thing an able body can do.  I would rather leave this life with a body used up and worn up than a nipped & tucked svelte figure that only offers a story of an empty person chasing beauty rather than toddlers.

All of us end up 70 with fannies that hit the floor, if we’re lucky.  Embrace the history of the marks, dings, and wrinkles of age and usefulness.  On days when I get it right, I let my imperfections rightfully tell the story they should:  I’m a mom.  I lived a life, brought life, and it was worth it.



"That’s Just The Way It Is", Tupac Says

Some things in life will never be the same:  the volume of music in my car, the cleanliness of my house, my vaginal walls, but of all the changes, the milk jugs are the worst.  The aftermath after a baby is devastating like a typhoon.  One of my buds asked me how the girls looked after my milk dried up.  “Not too bad”, I said.  “Pretty much the same just slight differences.”  Then four days passed and I had to tell her, “Bad news, the milk must not have all been gone when we talked last. ” It’s devastation on the home front.  I’m trying to not be crass here because, afterall, I am in fact blogging about my personal particulars but the point is not so much the body part but the differences that occur.  Kind of gives me a gagging feeling in my throat just to think of it.  How can 2 1/2 weeks of breastfeeding turn a lady to silly puddy?  How sweet infant child, oh tell me how? 

I’m being dramatic and it’s not probably as bad as it seems or definitely as bad as it could be or will be a few kids later.  It’s just a fact of life kids…as simple as the birds and the bees. I think we should all get a bit giggly about it because there’s nothing you can do about it.  And, hey, you grew and got a human out of the deal.  I had 27 wonderful  years of the old bags anyhow. 

Honestly, the whole body shift thing doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.  I’ve always been a bone my whole life and I thought any difference would be drastic for me.  I’ve lost all but 3 or 4 pounds of my pregnancy weight and she’s only 5 weeks old so it’s no big deal Lucille.  My stomach is back to flat but I still have the really dark line down it and I can’t wait for it to disapper already!  It’s not firm but it’s flat.  And I get a little rolly in the tummy if the pants are too tight thought that’s for sure.  BUT I think your body still isn’t totally the same, even if your weight is.  The old chest will one day be able to tied over my solider like a continental solider but that’s where we are all headed apart from surgery.  Again, a fact of life people just like dying and paying taxes…we all have to do it.

In a way it’s really liberating.  I feel more like a woman now than I ever have.  I’m about to roar because I feel so mighty and empowered.  That’s silly though because I picture a male lion roaring and not a female so that’s not really feminine empowerment like I was describing.  I feel like I’m about to trumpet like an elephant I feel so  mighty and empowered!  If you close your eyes and picture an elephant, did you a picture a boy or a girl?  That’s what I thought.  With elephants it makes no difference.

I love how maternal I feel and how I want to care for my babies, your babies, all the babies in all the lands of the earth.  I feel maternal towards everyone now, even more than I did pre-baby.  I want to take care of everyone even more.  So much that I could neigh like a…. just kidding…that moment has passed.

I’m really feeling like the ole’ beckycat these days and it’s amazing how much you enjoy being a mom when you aren’t crying all day and sleep deprived and having panic attacks and barfing and gagging.  Who would’ve thought eliminating those simple details could make such a difference?

So the moral of the story is this:  I’m at home alone without a child and needed to write a blog. 

Enjoy yourselves today mother’s of sagginess and sweet babies and lowered fannies.  We are women! Hear us trumpet!

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