If you are one of those women who has popped
out a baby and within five days have reverted to the exact svelte
shape you were before you conceived, you are abnormal, unnatural, and
I hate you. Kindly go stick a bag over your head and lock yourself
away in a dark room so the rest of us accursedly “normal” women
don't have to look at you.
Admittedly, I'm not doing too badly as far as
the whole body shape thing is concerned. The lack of stomach muscles
is unsettling, particularly how gelatinous it all looks when I'm in
the bath. However, a mere two and a half weeks after having given
birth to a pretty large baby and after lugging around a bloody huge
bump I can wear a handful of my tighter fitting black t-shirts,
although none of the out-and-out girly ones yet which include my two
favourite Darkthrone ones. Well. If ever there was incentive...
I still need a few extra bullets in my bullet
belt, though. And none of my jeans or trousers fit yet due to what I
shall call the “abundance” of flesh on my rump. In some circles
this is a good thing. Personally? I like my jeans. I spent many
months wearing them to a level of almost velvety comfort and would
like to get back into them thank you so very much, not to mention my
leather trousers. I'm confident that I can manage this, but first I'm
just waiting for this sodding episiotomy to heal up. As it is a brisk
half-hour walk with AJ causes unspeakable chafing and what the
general public will probably consider some kind of initiation rite in
order to become a fully fledged member of the Ministry of Silly
Walks. So. A few more weeks and I should be back in kickboxing class
and maybe if I'm lucky I'll be back in my leather trousers this
December in time for Carpathian Forest.
The one upshot is that suddenly I've got the
right kind of cleavage to wear things with plunging necklines, having
gone up two to three cup sizes (depending on whose brand of underwear
I'm purchasing) in the last nine months. Not so great on my wallet,
but immensely satisfying in other ways. Plus the Impending Husband
seems happy enough, as does AJ though for decidedly different
reasons.
As someone who's had, shall we say, “issues”
about food and body shape growing up this is probably a pretty
healthy outlook on things. Or at least it is until I start looking
for clothes.
Type in a search for breastfeeding clothes and
you'll see why. Suddenly you're bombarded by images of smiling
vapidity in the form of models who've probably never even held a
baby, never mind had one. Yes, I'm sure the purveyors of these goods
would whine and gripe about how they need to show their products off
in the best possible light or they'd never sell. Bollocks. You don't
buy a nursing bra because it's chic. You buy one because you need
something that gives your suddenly bountiful mammaries much needed
support while at the same time easy access to whip them out as and
when meal time is dictated by your adorable little human.
A quick gander at images on Google for the
search term “nursing bra” reveals hundreds of pictures. Out of a
selection of forty, there are about four women who are pregnant. Any
stretch marks appear to be conveniently airbrushed away and never
mind the fact that you really don't need to breastfeed anything when
you're pregnant, aside from other children. So those shouldn't even
be in the bloody search. The rest of the images include a serious
lack of stretch marks, and bodies that are disgustingly in
proportion, evenly tanned, no linea negra or other pigment issues, a
distinct lack of baby spit on their persons and worst of all – they
ALL look well-rested.
Bitches.
Looking at nursing clothes is even more
depressing. You have the same miserable issue of glammed up models
gurning like vacant mannequins at you. The positive is that they're
not flaunting their chiselled physiques. The negative is that THIS is
what they're expecting you as a breastfeeding mother to wear –
bland, mundane pastel tops which are the least offensive all the way
down through to things with FRILLS. Seriously. Fucking frills. And
smocked tops. Things I've despised since I was five or six and
decided that what I really wanted was to wear big leather combat
boots and boys clothes so I wouldn't get screamed at when I came home
covered in mud. I am not a “girly” girl, though I can scrub up
with the best of them when the occasion requires it or I bloody well
feel like it.
At least there's some effort to make maternity
clothes that cater to the likes of me. That, however, ends once the
baby's here. I could probably customize a few outfits with some
artful cuts, some carefully applied safety pins, and maybe a few band
patches here and there but be realistic. I've got a newborn who needs
feeding at odd hours of the day and night, as well as keeping on top
of the laundry that builds up, fending off nappy rash, making sure
the Impending Husband gets a few good nights of sleep in between the
ones where he's gallantly helping me deal with everything, and trying
to catch up with sleep myself. Time to customize clothes? Sod that!
My solution is probably going to be a jaunt
down to the nearest military surplus shop to pick up a few army
shirts from different countries that button up the front. Aside from
the comfort and the fact that maybe the camouflage pattern will also
help camouflage the baby vomit, they're a hell of a lot cheaper than
most nursing tops and I'll probably be happy to wear them when AJ
gets a bit older and is no longer dependent on the nourishment by
mammary. The nursing bras... well. Some things are kind of essential.
The outer layers, though – I'll just make it up as I go along. I'm
good at doing that. So to hell with you overpriced breastfeeding
products and your legion of vacant-skulled models. Go scam
hard-earned cash off someone else.