Body Rockin'

We need body rocking, not perfection. ("Body Moving" Beastie Boys 1998)

Warning: The following is written by a skinny bitch (though I prefer the term "slender" truly)...and I am writing frankly about my own unique experience. I do not mean to demean, compete with, or offend anyone who hasn't yet come to peace with their own bodies and the myriad unique expressions of feminine gorgeousness. Just because I'm generally littler (growing every minute!) does not mean that you being bigger is any less delicious, in fact you may be much much more bodacious. Anyway, this ain't no competition! If it will bother you, simply skip this post. Thanks.

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It probably has clear enough origins 37 years ago, or 36 1/2 years ago, when my dad persuaded my mom when I was six months old to take me off breastmilk and put me on formula because I wasn't gaining weight quickly enough. (Combine first year medical resident with new father and you get a worrier, combine 6 month old with dairy formula and you get earaches and amoxicillin). Fact is, I have been low on the weight chart since the beginning it seems. The joke is I take after my Grandfather Vic who was a skinny-minny up to the very end, despite eating spaghetti every other day and carbs without pause, which was evidenced by the small nibbles missing out of any cake or bread my Grandma made and left in plain view where he could find it...

My heaviest was freshman year college (classic) when I discovered vegetarianism, but wasn't yet eating vegetables. This is a terrible combination anyway, but especially in a dormitory setting where they have Cheerios and Lucky Charms on tap, pizza and grilled cheese by the tray and I had friends who were over 21 and able to procure liquid carbohydrates for us. Still, and I thank my Mom and Grandma for these genes, I can fluctuate a broad 15-20 pounds and few would notice.

Jump ahead to this joyfully welcomed pregnancy; an event I have been awaiting eagerly for over a decade, deferring through medical school, holding out past the interviewing of potential baby daddys, negotiating carefully with my darling new husband who's two young children are finally at the age that doesn't require constant supervision. (though this was of course hashed out thoroughly before any proposal) 

And as soon as the pre-period bloat didn't recede, and the positive test, I was all convinced the topography was changing. A few weeks in and I'm showing him my slightly barely bloated belly, "Honey! Look! I have a belly!" "It's beautiful Dear", he says accommodatingly, and knowing full well from his prior experience just how very belly this situation will get. 

And then there are some of the more unexpected reactions people have. 

For instance, when I broke the pregnancy news to my mother, one of her first comments was, "You'll finally be overweight!" Um, okay.

Another friend, as I was 17 weeks in and marveling at this sweet pooch protruding over my waistline, and complaining that the rubber-band girth hitch wasn't cutting it anymore on the wardrobe expansion plan for the jeans that used to require a belt to be worn in public at all."Jen, I'm going to vomit" she says, "you are so tiny!"

Which was oddly ouchy because here I was enraptured with the changes I am undergoing, and I feel like I am significantly different than I have ever felt in this body! I realized right about then that you really can't talk to everyone about everything along this pregnancy journey. No problem. (how about I blog publicly on the internet instead...hmmmm.) Though I do hope the disclaimer at the beginning of this blog post will have deterred anyone else who may take offense at being exposed to my diminutive musings. Meanwhile I'm just tripped out and loving (almost) every minute.

And then there was last week in yoga class, and mind you this is a studio started by a midwife, catering specifically to pregnant moms, mama baby yoga etc. You think I would have noticed on my way in, and yet... The woman next to me leans over as we are settling in before class and says "You know this is a prenatal yoga class right? Like for pregnant women?"

Can't you all see this belly! and I've got boobs! Actual breasts requiring a bra, which move when I run up or down the stairs! Never before seen in this territory! I told her if she knew me 4 months ago she would be able to tell something was different. She is also 8 whole weeks ahead of me, which is a significant difference. In eight weeks I don't think anyone will be doubting why I am elbowing my way to the front of the ladies bathroom line. But, I guess I'll wait a little while longer before the "Baby on Board" T-shirt.