nightgown

This past Christmas, my mother-in-law gave me a full-length, embroidered on the edges, flowing nightgown.


To be honest, I had NEVER worn a nightgown. I'm more of a workout pants and t-shirt kindof girl when it comes to bedtime. But I noticed the tag had a Dillard's sticker, and felt the soft brushed cotton, and took it home to wear to bed.

Enter Mrs. Olsen in nightgown. Rainbow Girl stops and stares. She says, "That's pretty" and the next day asks if I'll buy her a nightgown. The Mister of the House comments how cute it is. I wonder if they are serious.

The thing is, when I was a newlywed, I heard a tale (supposedly true) of a Hawaiian woman that ran on the beach every day for exercise. Once she became pregnant, she continued her daily jog. She jogged every week of her pregnancy, and even ran 3 miles the day she gave birth.

She was woman! Nothing would hold her back! She stayed in charge of her body and worked through the discomforts of pregnancy to provide good health to her new addition!

This was the woman I was determined to be. Tough. Resilient. In shape. Fitting into her skinny jeans 4 weeks postpartum. This is the woman who would have thought nightgowns were for grannies and not tough young mothers who jog the day before and the day after giving birth.



But then when I became pregnant, I felt like I was being overtaken by Alien Body-snatchers. Why does my favorite food make me ill? What's with the leg cramps? Why am I so freaking tired?

There's a beautiful (and necessary) loss of control when you incubate another human life. Because no matter how hard I try (and let's be honest, I have NOT tried as hard as the "Hawaii Lady") I can never seem to not get pregnant in my arms, butt, and sides.

This reality has been disheartening at times, and has later served as ammunition for victim-hood that only chocolate cake could understand.

But now, I am older and wiser. Offspring #4 is coming to earth soon, and while I am determined to skip church the next couple of weeks if I haven't gone into labor, there's a letting go that I am trying to embrace...A letting go without a grudge.

In my crunchy hippy birthing center, I am happy to announce that there exists the pregnant women apparently friends with the Hawaii Women. They usually have blogs and have gorgeous black and white photos of their bare tummies, sans stretch marks, showing thoughtful and/or exuberant images of their blossoming motherhood. I snuck this photo at my last appointment, check it:



La La La! Three, maybe even one pregnancy ago, this picture would have ticked me off just a bit. Now? It's just slightly annoying. Yay!



I am woman. Hear me roar!

I am 35 and love my nightgown!

My arse is a rectangle starting in my middle back, but I grow 'em gorgeous and strong. So it's okay.

And even though I'm going to skip church the next two weeks if I haven't gone into labor, God loves me and I think He's awesome. I recognize my blossoming as a blessing from Him.

Signed,
Thirty-five is the new 50 and it feels good...