Having kids really takes a toll on one’s beauty:
Before I became pregnant with my first child, my hair was brown and shiny.
By the time my first child turned one year old, my hair was 40% gray and only shiny if she spit up on my shoulder and I transferred that shiny goop to my hair by–in an impressive Cirque de Soleil maneuver–using that shoulder to itch the top of my head. Hey–you learn to do stuff like that when your arms are full of new baby. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.
Before I had my first child, my boobs were rather pleasant-looking 36D’s.
Two years after my first child was born–when she was finally weaned–my boobs were not pleasant, I was bigger than a 36, and they were less than D’s. Condom packaging designers should include critical information like this on their warning labels. Can I get an ‘Amen’?
Before I became pregnant with the twins (my second and third children), my legs were scrawny yet decent looking.
By the time the twins were six months old, my bird legs appeared to be shoved into cankles and accented with vericose veins down the back AND the front. Nothing says “I’m a procreational overachiever!” like a long and winding road map from swollen ankles to the top of the uterus region. Am I right?
And before I had any kids at all, I drove a sweet “Aquafina blue!” sporty sedan. My first new car ever.
I traded it in shortly for a minivan. My pride doesn’t much appreciate such a mommy-mobile, but at least it safely accommodates my gray hair, diminished boobs, vericose veins, cankles, huge ego and all of my various children.
This is dedicated to my various children, who keep me humble, but by accident. Mostly.