The Sandpaper, The Wig, and The Basketball

I forgot to say earlier that I posted some additional photos on my earlier posts, so if you wanna see new pics of the boy and the "cigarette tray" then go back to my July entries. There's also a picture of one of my dogs. Because. Well, every one deserves a little recognition for what we've all sacrificed since the arrival of the boy.

And speaking of pics, I am not high tech enough to know how to photoshop so these pictures are not doctored up for effect. Unfortunately, this is the real state that I find myself in. And let's just say today's topic is all about vanity. Mine. Not yours. But mine.

The Sandpaper

This is in reference to the feeling of my once soft and supple skin. No longer do I have the time to apply body lotion, hand lotion, face lotion, scrubs, or masks. I also have certain body parts that are off limits to lotion because, well let's just say I signed a contract once I became a mother. For instance, my breasts can not have lotion on them because I breastfeed the boy. So, the reason is obvious. My shoulders can not have lotion on them because when I hold him, he likes to suck and drool all over my shoulder. My hands can't have lotion on them because he likes to eat and chew on my fingers, all the time. Not only is this due to the teething phase we are in, but I am a replacement for a pacifier. My nipples have also been given this job as well. (Again, the Teething While Breastfeeding blog hasn't been written yet. Need just a little more space away from what is now the harsh reality.)

Now, I understand that I have only mentioned three body parts, but there are several reasons why it's pointless to put lotion on the rest of my body. If I can't have lotion on my hands, then how else am I supposed to get it on to the rest of my body? I dare you to come up with a solution. And let's just say, for old time's sake, that I do manage to get lotion on my legs. I will immediately get it completely licked off by my dog. So, then I'll have not just baby slobber on shoulders, but both legs will be dripping with dog drool. Not to mention how much more difficult it will be to get anything done with a dog right underneath me.

And my other point: lotion on my hands would be a complete waste of money/product/time/energy because I am washing my hands incessantly. Warm water, soap. Just like my dad taught me.

I do not have a picture of my lizard-esque skin. You will just have to use your imagination. Or go to the hardware store, pick up some sandpaper, rub it right across your eyelid (please close your eyes first), and then you will know what it feels like to rub your eyes in the morning with my new mommy skin. Or perhaps that feeling is simply a hangnail that I just don't have time to attend to.

The Wig

I was warned. I laughed. And now I suffer. The hair loss is INCREDIBLE!!!!! No one ever told me... Oh, wait a minute. I just lied. Yes, people told me that often times women lose hair either during or after pregnancy but I thought I had super human powers and such things didn't affect me. And anyways, I have always had mass amounts of thick hair so I didn't think I would miss a few strands of hair falling out.

I've heard several theories, so this is only one. Apparently when you are pregnant all the extra hormones causes you to grow hair more rapidly and also you stop losing hair that you normally lose on a daily basis. I'm not sure if this is a survival thing. You know, like maybe the cave women back in the day used all this extra hair for weaving a basket or something? To keep their baby warm? To give the baby something to hang on to if they should fall? Anyhow, after the pregnancy you supposedly lose all of this extra hair that you never lost while you were pregnant.

But this hair loss doesn't happen right away. They did not tell me this part. So I thought three months into Kien's life and no sign of hair loss, that just proved that I was super human. I secretly did my "I told you" dance, while I shook my extra, extra thick and long hair. Well, month four: BAM! WHAM! WHERE'S MY BASKET WEAVING NOW?!?!?

My hair fell out in clumps. Massive amounts of hair with every brush stroke. No exaggeration, with every stroke of the brush I would have to clean it out because it would be too full to run through my hair again. The floor would often look like the floor of a hair salon. Pride has prevented me from picking it all up and making a wig out of it.

I learned the hard way that I had to rigorously and viciously brush my hair before I got in the shower to prevent a disastrous clog. While showering has become a rare, almost extinct practice, it has also become rushed because at any given moment I might be needed to perform some life saving task. And I never want that moment to happen with shampoo stinging my eye. So now with my new lesson learned about brushing my hair before entering the shower, this gave me even less time to shower. This is why new mothers just don't bother to shower. What is the point of a 90 second shower?

My attitude is confirmed by my mother-in-law's famous story about when my husband was a baby and she had to exit the shower immediately to rush him to the hospital. Shampoo in her hair, mascara down her face. So, let's follow this timeline for a second. She obviously had just started her shower since she hadn't washed her face yet, and she was still in the beginning of washing her hair. This meant that she had probably only been in the shower for 60 seconds before she had to exit. I have often thought of killing two birds with one stone (figuratively) and showering with my clothes on. That way, if I made it through my shower I would also have clean clothes. If I didn't make it through my shower because of some emergency then I would already be wearing clothes.

Sorry, I digress. The point was to tell you about the time I discovered that it would behoove me to brush my hair before getting in the shower. I jumped in, got my hair wet, squirted some shampoo on and before I even had time to start scrubbing, my whole body was covered with my dead, fallen out, soapy hair. From my shoulders down to my knees. Planet of the Apes re-enacted, right there. Going back to the image of the hair salon, it was as if all that hair that is on the salon floor was swept up and then thrown onto my wet body.

Getting that much wet hair off of my body before it goes down the drain is not how I wanted to spend my precious shower minutes. I mean, c'mon, I finally get the opportunity to get in the shower and it became the most un-relaxing experience of my life. Not to mention, unnerving. I saw so much hair not attached to my head that I thought for sure some animal had died. A sasquatch perhaps. I spent the next 10 minutes pulling all the hair off of me and sticking it to the shower wall. It covered two walls.

Then comes another BAM! WHAM! moment. (NOT to be confused with an Oprah "Ah-ha" moment.) I've discovered that I've lost so much hair that I now have a receding hairline. (Refer to the evidence now.) Do you see that triangle of baldness? Well, I have a matching

one on the other side. It was not there before. Draw a line at the base of the "triangle". Go ahead. Now point and laugh. That is how much my hair has receded, in two months. I think I will just paint the triangles red and dress up as satan for Halloween. My very nice and comforting friend has told me that it's simply a distinguished Widow's Peak. Thanks.

What sucks about it all, is that my favorite, easy mommy-do (the ever popular pony tail) is the perfect hairdo to emphasize these bald patches. But honestly, who really cares about your receding hairline or your sandpaper skin when you have a deflated basketball where your stomach once was.

The Basketball

There's not a lot of explanation necessary here. I had an eight pound baby, extra fluid, and a placenta growing inside my stomach. I have often wondered what happens to your stomach after the baby comes out. This concept always fascinated me. Even though I have stated many times how pointless it is to wear clothes now that I'm a mother, my stomach is precisely the reason why clothes were invented. Forget warmth and fashion or modesty. It's to hide The Basketball. Look at the picture. Study it hard.

I LOVED, absolutely loved being pregnant. I was very proud of my basketball (my son) then. I gained a "normal" amount of weight- 30 pounds. I was very, very, very lucky and lost all of it by the third month. (Producing milk and breastfeeding burns 500 calories a day. Equivalent to running two to three miles every day.) But even though I lost all the weight immediately, my stomach looked deformed. Not all pretty like when there was a baby inside. You know what a basketball looks like when it's deflated or has been run over by a car? All lumpy? My stomach- same concept. It didn't deflate evenly. It's sort of flabby in a way I didn't know flabby existed. And a whole lot of sagging skin. Similar to when someone has gastric bypass surgery and they have a lot of extra skin.

I am sharing this photo with you for educational purposes. (This was taken two and a half months after delivery with only five more pounds of baby weight to lose.) Study it closely and then determine if childbearing is for you. Perhaps I am doing my part in slowing down the overpopulation of the world. Notice the concave shape on the left? And the sagging skin on the bottom?

Now, there is hope. My basketball has deflated even more since this photo was taken but the misshapen look has been lovingly adopted by my husband as the "new" me. And the further it deflates, the more "extra" skin I have discovered resting on my thighs. I should point out that my stomach was never in great shape. I've never seen a six pack there before (neither a four or a two pack for that matter). But now with my "new" stomach, engaging in sit-ups causes a whole afternoon of ridicule and finger pointing.

I have also found that all of this loose, saggy skin on my stomach is extra sensitive now. Rubbing my stomach gives me the heebie jeebies. I don't mean sensitive in the ticklish kind of way. I mean in the irritating "don't touch me" way.

And last but not least, there's the bellybutton. It still looks as stretched out as during the pregnancy. It's like it's lost and doesn't know whether to be an inny or an outy. It changes it's mind on a daily basis. And the sensitivity- Oh My Goodness!!!! Sometimes when I'm lying in bed next to the boy, he gets really active with his legs. It's looks similar to how Fred Flintstone looks when he's driving the car. And while I want to support the growth of my boy, sometimes his tiny little toes will get caught in my bellybutton. Yes, caught. As in "stuck". And then he moves his foot all over the place, taking my bellybutton and all it's extra skin with him. This does hurt. Who knew a bellybutton could be so ridiculously delicate?

So, I have caught you up on the appearance of three body parts post-childbirth. It's a pretty sight. But of course, I'd be lying if I said I was unhappy. The boy that laughs and grins every time he sees me makes it all worth it.