I Want Credit

After reading SJ's lastest post, I decided to play the look how my baby's grown game. I have all pictures sorted rather anally by date, yes, the actual date taken, and then folderized by month and year.

There isn't much that I like about my body. Even back when I was a waif (but, of course, thought I was fat) at 5 foot 6, 115lbs and toned, I always had hips...big hips, and THIGHS. (No one ever looked at me and wondered "if she'll be able to get the baby out!" like they did with my SIL.) Throw in a freakishly big head (bigger even than my 285lb 6 foot 6 star football player exboyfriend), tiny ears (which are now the same size as Cracker's and he's 3), a tiny chest (32A pre-Cracker = shopping in the children's department to get any sort of selection), tiny wrists and fingers. The size of my first wedding ring? Four and a half.

I'm sorry...did you say curvy? Well, I wish I could too, but that would imply that I have more than one set of curves.

How disproportionate can one gal be? (Credit and shout out here to Karen who posted just the other day about her own body image issues.)

On the plus side, now that I weigh A LOT more, I have boobs. Which brings me to a tiny vent: Victoria's Secret sucks. (No link for them!) They never really carried 32A, so when my chest exploded after childbirth VS was my first stop for new bras. But, no, instead of being too small, now I was too big. They don't carry many D's, and certainly not 38DD's. And, of course, no nursing bras at all. Assholes.

And so, in RL, I am always hearing that the Cracker has J's eyes. Even when J is not around, perfect strangers compliment my child with "Wow, he has beautiful eyes! They must be his dad's because they certainly aren't yours! And those eyelashes! So wasted on a boy!" Okay, they both have these deep brown bedroom eyes compared to my freaky blue ones, but J gets credit for the whole darn area. And dammit, my best feature is my eyelashes. They are L-O-N-G. Sunglass shopping is impossible because I have the darndest time finding ones that my eyelashes don't hit every time I blink. Seriously, I shit you not. Mascara? Even if I wore makeup, my eyelashes are too thick.



SO HIS EYELASHES...THOSE SUCKERS ARE MINE. I GAVE THEM TO HIM. WHY? BECAUSE I LOVE HIM.*

Which finally brings me back to the look how my baby's grown game. Here are his eyelashes from July 4th last year. Believe you me, they are much more impressive in person, but so darn blond that only the darkest ones come out in the picture.



Trust me...they are fabulous, they are mine, and they just keep growing along with the rest of him.

*My mom says that I got my eyelashes from her love affair with chocolate. My dad would take her to HoJo's (as they tell it, nightly) and watch her eat chocolate cake with chocolate sauce and chocolate ice cream. Even though my natural hair color is *assumed* to be medium brown, my eyelashes are dark, black even. Now the Cracker's are blond... No obsessive amounts of chocolate here, but I did ingest insane amounts of cow, citrus, Jamoca milkshakes from Baskin Robbins and key lime cheesecake.

Which reminds me: you know how if the baby isn't moving you are supposed to eat an orange because the natural sugar (or whatever) will get them going? Yeah, I was eating 10+ a day and had to go in because he wouldn't STOP moving. Poor little guy was on a crazy orange induced buzz for more than a week before my midwife figured me out. Nobody was sleeping at our house: not me, not him, and not J, because I had to wake him up and complain. Why eat just one when you can eat an entire bag?


(The top two pictures are from October 2004, and yes, they were taken at Starbucks. Where else?)