This post was supposed to contain many more pictures.  Revealing pictures of my wrecked post partum body.  I didn’t chicken out, it’s just that my “photographer” (Jessie) had a moment and the picture session was nixed for the evening.

“But Somer,” you may be asking.  “Why the hell were you going to post pictures of your body and broadcast them to the whole world?  Are you just becoming desperate for attention?”  My simple reply to that is to say “fuck off.”  The more in-depth reply is to explain that my truth concerning my body is different from what super models who walk the runway in lingerie six weeks after giving birth have.  My truth is that my body never returned to what it was pre-baby.  My truth is that my stretch marks were not minimal and the stretched skin never really puckered back up.  My truth is that my belly button will always look a little weird and wrinkly now.  My truth is that there will always be a bit of a lip at the bottom of my stomach from where the loose skin hangs thanks to either c-sections or very large babies.  I wanted to post pictures of my truth to show that I have no regrets concerning this truth.  I have no fear of it.  I wanted to post it to give people who share a similar truth something to look at and smile a knowing smile.

I can fit into my pre-pregnancy pants.  My shoes all still fit.  My boobs deflate back to their sad and hilarious small size.  But I’m not the same.  I think most women who go through pregnancy feel that way.  Your body just isn’t quite the same.  Some changes are minor and are easy to forget.  Other changes are more glaring.  When I look at pictures of myself running around in small bikinis or shirts that revealed my super sexy belly button, my mouth might turn down slightly before I see another pictures of one of my sons.  I smile and say, “I gave those skimpy clothes a good run,” and go on with my life.

The pictures would have explained a lot.  Some people would gasp and say, “oh that poor girl.”  Others would scoff and say that I have it easy.  Each pair of eyes is a different filter and my truth colors differently through those filters.  I guess what I want to impart is that for me, it’s ok to be stretched out, saggy and discolored.  I still feel sexy.  I am someone with extra skin who has no intentions whatsoever to have cosmetic surgery to get me back to my 21 year-old body.

I won’t be wearing bikinis on the beach and I won’t be seen in half-shirts anymore.  Those days are gone and, quite frankly, I’m too old for some of that anyhow.  I’m not going to regret the loss of that taut skin or fear letting anyone see what has become of my body.  You know why?

That’s why.

And it doesn’t hurt that my butt still looks rockin’ in a good pair of blue jeans.

UPDATE

Alright, I said I’d do it and I meant it.  Just after Thanksgiving, I’m putting pictures of my naked ass on my blog.  I feel like I should perhaps have a drink before I hit the update button, but what the hell.  It’s not like this is the only place you can find naked skin on the internet.

Ah, the sagging skin.  The hilariously deflated belly button.  There’s a mole on my stomach that used to be right beside my belly button that has migrated, thanks to stretched skin, more to my side.

The c-section lip.  And the craziness of my stretch marks.  And oh yeah, some side-butt.  You can just ignore that last one.

Truth time folks: stretch marks happen.  Those fancy creams and oils on the market to prevent them or diminish them don’t do much.  Granted, my babies were rather large, but these stretch marks are NOT new.  Those suckers are still deep and discolored three years later.  And you know what?  I still manage to live and wear attractive clothes and let my husband see me naked.  It’s not the end of the world.

I’m 1 month postpartum.  It’s not going to get much better than it is now looks-wise.  My stomach might flatten out a tiny bit more, but the sagging and the stretch marks stay the same.  And I’m not sorry for it.

I call him Ruegen for short

I’ll save the gory details for another post and just post a bunch of pictures of this magnificent creature.  My miracle baby.  My 50% chance baby.  And he’s here.  I’m tickled.

I named him after one of my favorite movie/books of all time.  The six-fingered man in “The Princess Bride”.  Yes, I named my youngest son after a villain, but I love the name and I love that it’s not a name that you hear a lot.

He looks nothing like Lukas did as a baby.  The shape of the head is way different.  The hands and feet are totally different.  The shape of the eyes is different.  I know at this age it’s subtle.  I say all newborns look like Mr. Magoo and my babies are no exception, but I can see the differences.  I gaze(d) into those tiny faces more than anybody else and I know every line and bump and it’s so funny to me that these two brothers look so different.  Jessie and my mom both insist heavily that this child looks like me.  He has dark hair, but that’s all I’m seeing of it right now…that and the fact that his ears don’t stick out at all.  It WOULD be nice to have at least one of my children not look like they gave me the wrong baby at the hospital, but in the end, I don’t really care.  I’ve known this child for 4 days and I’m crazy about him.

I have decided that this last stretch of my pregnancy is only going to be filled with cuteness and happiness and giggles.  I’m talking fuzziness and baby giggles and cupcakes that look like Star Wars characters!  This pregnancy has been plagued by too many unsavory things and I feel like I have not taken enough time to just sit and think about how precious this experience of having another baby is going to be.

I have this memory of Jessie and I taking Lukas to the pediatrician when he was only a couple of months old and the pediatrician telling us, “you guys look like you are really enjoying having a baby.  I wish more parents would just stop and enjoy it while they have it.”  That is something that has stuck with me.  It goes by so fast.  It gets away from you and I don’t want to be left in a place where I look back on certain things and feel like I didn’t laugh enough at certain things or that I didn’t take time enough to hug my babies while they were still tiny.  The laundry can wait.  The floors can be a little yicky for a bit.  I’ve got to hold on to these moments before they slip away and I’m left watching my children drive away as they leave home for good.

So my resolve to make only cute has solidified.  I’m surrounded by kittens.  Lukas is at a point where pretty much every other thing he says cracks me up (kids seriously DO say the darndest things) and I have another baby coming in a matter of weeks.  My posts until the obligatory “Why This Delivery Experience Sucked as Bad as the First” post after the baby is born will be cute.  CUTE.  And happy.  Because you know what?  I’m feeling better.  Things are better.  And I need to share it.  CUTENESS.  HAPPINESS.  CHILL OUT AND LOOK AT MY CUTE KITTENS AND KID.

Miss Squirrely Girl is currently suffering from a minor eye infection, but she’ll be camera ready by my next post!

That was the kitten part.  Now for the cute kid part.  A video from when Lukas was just a baby.  My heart hurts when I watch this.  So much so that when I was cutting it up, I looked at Lukas and yelled, “When the hell did I give you permission to grow up so damned fast?”  He just giggled and told me he didn’t want to pee pee in his underwear, but I think I got my point across.

Baby Lulu from Somer Canon on Vimeo.