So it's midnight, and I've just fed Rex, and my Good Little Boy has fallen asleep in his crib with his left index finger in his mouth. It's really cute, and also very functional - I think he might believe I am still feeding him, because it looks like his index finger is just about the same circumference as one of my nipples. His finger is definitely longer, at least I hope it is, but since he has been eating with the unrelenting suck of a Moray eel for nearly three months you never know. Most of my anatomy, and specifically the two parts that feed my son, are going south. They are actually getting stretched.
My friend Carol has also had two children, and she is forever making up hilarious descriptions for what happens to your body. When I was pregnant she told me that from the side, I looked like a filing cabinet with the middle drawer pulled all the way out. Totally accurate. And now she says her body shape is not that of a pear, or an apple, but of a clogged straw: skinny on the top and bottom, with a thick bulge in the middle. I for one think she looks fabulous; way more gorgeous than anyone can possibly look after having two kids.
As I climb back into bed I start thinking about what my body shape is now, and I decide that what I most resemble is the Seattle Space Needle. I have a little head on top, a skinny lower body stretching below, with two huge boobs in the middle that are visible for miles in all directions. Instead of an observation deck I have an observation rack, and my rack is heading south at the same pace as the Space Needle observation deck descends. It's not pretty. After Rex is weaned I will objectively assess the collateral damage to my figure, but for now, my bod belongs to the G.L.B.
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