Belly Laughs

My husband makes me laugh. (I know – don’t they all, really?) He obsesses over silly things like a receding hairline or the size of his belly. He never seems to consider things like heredity or the fact that he’s lost more than 20 pounds thanks to the physical nature of his job. Perhaps he’d like to remember that, when I worked at that same company a couple of years ago, in a job that had a similar physical element, I didn’t lose an ounce. Didn’t gain anything, mind you – just stayed at the same blasted friggin’ weight that I’ve always been. Yet, he complains. Men don’t seem to realize how lucky they are. We try to tell them. They laugh us off. We diligently explain (ad nauseum) the inequities in our society that allow men to go grey / bald / fat / pasty / smelly (well ok, “temporarily” smelly) / wrinkly / liver-spotted / you-name-it and still maintain the exact same level of self-confidence and self-esteem. If you’ve ever once had to tell your man to clip his (a) toenails; (b) fingernails; (c) ear hair; and/or (d) nose hair BEFORE leaving the house, you know what I’m talking about. The aging process for a man may not be pretty – but it’s accepted. When you think about it, barring serious illness, getting older is the only physical change they really deal with in life – AND they get to do it in small doses. They never have to deal with the effects of life’s great demoralizer…. PREGNANCY Don’t get me wrong. I LOVED being pregnant. I have said it before and I’ll say it again. Never, in my entire life – especially the one I’m living at this moment where I can entertain myself counting how many colorful little pills it’s going to take to eventually control my blood pressure – never did I feel healthier than when I was pregnant. Did I care about my weight then? Nope. It was exciting to go through a pregnancy and only gain a reasonable 20-some pounds. It was positively thrilling to go from a B-cup to a DD. It was darn near orgasmic to go out in the world WISHING people would notice the size of my belly. Thing is, no one ever told me the truth about what you’re left with AFTER all the euphoria. No, no, no – I don’t mean the kids. I knew about them. It’s the changes that stay with you forever that I wasn’t quite expecting. I’ve spoken to lots of women about these things and I get the overwhelming sense that I’m not the only one who was surprised. Take, for instance, the one woman who told me about how she diligently moisturized and practically inhaled vitamin E to avoid stretchmarks. She bragged to her husband routinely about how smooth her belly was – not one of those ugly red squiggles in sight! She went on and on about how she was going to be the exception to the rule and he (not having the balls to fight with mood swings and hormones, I suppose) just smiled and responded with the usual “Yes, honey, you sure will.” Then, after months of trying to snuggle up and spoon with her at night, only to have her POP out of his arms like a frantic little porker in a greased pig contest, his scrotum finally descended from wherever it had been hiding. Throwing off the blankets, he stomped into the bathroom and grabbed a hand mirror. He placed it firmly in her hand and said, “Trying looking UNDER YOUR BELLY!!!” I’m sure they’ve faded to little white squiggles by now. Not all the residual changes are visible, though. When we were kids, we used to go “up north” to my maternal grandparents’ home for our summer vacations. Being in the mountains, there were lots of hills to negotiate on our drive there. My father delighted in the fact that, from the time she was first pregnant onwards, my mother got nauseous on even the smallest of dips. She’d grasp frantically to the dashboard, stomping her “invisible brake” as if it could stop the simultaneous spinning in her head and stomach. Dad would, of course, hit the gas going downhill, as if it was even necessary, and he would laugh and laaaaaaugh while Mom struggled to keep down her breakfast. We’d hoot and holler in the backseat like we were on a rollercoaster. This brings me to the next change – rollercoasters. Prior to my pregnancies, amusement parks were fun. I’ve always had a fear of heights but I was up for the “Scrambler” or the “Tilt-a-Whirl” any day! Something “shifted” in my head during pregnancy, I swear. Stifle the smart remarks, please. It must be payback for laughing at my mom but I can no longer tolerate even the smallest spin. I feel like my head’s going to explode. My equilibrium seems to be totally shot because I can’t even look down in a moving car anymore without being in serious danger of losing my lunch. I know I’m not alone in this one either. An acquaintance of ours (post-two-pregnancies herself) spent most of her time at our nearby amusement park doing “trash can inspections”… and she wasn’t looking for returnable bottles! So, unfortunately for my kids, by virtue of their very existence, Six Flags is never going to be on our vacation roster – well, unless they go with my husband. … at least he won’t have to worry about his hair blowing around on the rides!