I’d like to believe that I’m not vain, but who the hell would I be kidding? Maybe “vain” is too strong. Let’s just say that it takes a certain self-indulgence to get breast implants, wear make-up, dye my hair to keep the roots at bay, keep nail polish on my toes, and of course daily maintenance of the unibrow even though I’s gots me a man.

Several weeks ago, I gave up the keeping up.

Because I refused (OK, I procrastinated) to purchase a bra that would better accommodate my implants while they compete with boobinitis, I have moments of regret for ever having surgery. I also am flashing back to those weeks after XBoy was born that not only would I fail the pencil test, I’m sure I would have failed a 2×4 test.

The only times I bother now with any make-up are when I have a meeting, church, or an evening outing with the in-laws (they don’t need to see how dark my eye-bags are or how I’m spontaneously morphing into a Trill. Yes, I know: sun screen).

The parting of the Great UniBrow has been complicated as I prefer to lean over the bathroom counter to remove the strays with a tweezer. Murdock, being the big-headed fetus that it is, objects to me mashing him/her against the counter’s edge, so I try to use a hand mirror. Since it is not my usual means, it’s awkward, and the daily sweep has been reduced to two to three times a week. Well, you know those hormones that are “Trilling” my face? They also make hair grow faster so the plucking  is now really just foraging.

Actually the hardest part during all this has been watching the scale. I was 15 lbs heavier when I got pregnant with Murdock than when I got pregnant with XBoy, thanks to years of stress, injections, stress, over indulgence, and stress. I also have gained in 8 months with Murdock what I had gained in 9 with XBoy, which probably explains why the current estimate of Murdock is sixish pounds, when poor little XBoy was 5 lbs and 12 oz at term.

It’s all fine, I guess in the big picture since it still is all within range of normal, but I can’t help but worry about what I’ll be dealing with in another nine months. I’m not the most physically active person in the world. Truth be told, I’m lazy. I use the excuse of asthma to not participate in anything cardio-related. The running joke I have right now is that I have two choices to get back into any of the clothes I had before October: Bulimia and Anorexia.

Bulimia’s appeal is I get to eat and eat and eat, but damn it! Then I have to puke and the thought of once again having vomit go up and out my nose *shudder*…not to mention that pesky side-affect of losing one’s esophageal lining after repeated purging, not to mention my back side feeling the “burn”.

Anorexia: not eating and exercising religiously? Neither of those options appeal to me. Refer back to my statement about being lazy. Admittedly, I’m not eating much now. While I was able to finish off full course meals a few weeks ago, enough food to put a Husker football player to shame, I’m now to the point that a couple of chocolate chips or maybe a handful of marshmallows fill me up. You wouldn’t want to imply that maybe the chocolate and marshmallows may be part of my problem, do you? Keep in mind that it’s nearly summer, I’m eight months pregnant, I feel, look AND walk like a troll, and my husband said to me this morning as he kissed me good-bye: “You look like a beach bag.”

Yeah. I dare you to go there.

I’m sure I’ll be pretty distracted by a certain needy little being who won’t care how many stomach rolls I have when I sit down or that there appears to be more shadows under my eyes than above. I’ll just have to take baby steps, now won’t I?


If you or someone close to you has suffered from either Bulimia or Anorexia, please do not take my literary jesting as not caring or that I take the diseases lightly.