“Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels, but old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.” -Ghandi
Just kidding, it was Dumbledore. I didn’t go to Princeton!
One thing I’m loathe to become is a one upper type of mom. I don’t want to look on a new mom and get all smug in my wisdom and fatness. It’s just, I’ve been in the trenches for so long, that sometimes I forget what the old me used to do, and think, and worry about. My memory consists of empty buzzing sounds and weird diaper rash advice. I feel like I wield this weird power as a person who is going to have three children, like somehow I’ve unlocked a national secret. Like we’re all on a stair step and moms of two look down on moms of one and moms of three look down on them and moms of four or more don’t have time to look down on anyone because they’re so damn tired.
Luckily, I’ve had this blog forever. As I went skipping down memory lane I became immediately depressed by how thin I was when I got knocked up for the first time and also by how lame my blogs used to be. Sort of like this one. I found this picture of myself:
All I could think was, “Oh you beautiful perky boobs. I’m blowing you a kiss from the future. Can you feel it from the past? It feels like butterfly wings.” The truth is guys, the more my body has been devastated by subsequent pregnancies, the more I die to self, the more baby food I make and feed and clean off of things, the more different I become. I was a caterpillar back then and I’ve blossomed into a beautiful butterfly with a BMI that’s slightly higher than the average butterfly’s.
But I’ll be mindful not to become smug. Smug is two steps and a toe tap away from becoming the old lady at the grocery store. We’re all in this together girls, no babies, one babies, 19 babies. #solidarity
(does anyone ever miss Zanessa? I do.)