Fat, Not Pregnant: 8 Things Most People Won't Tell You About Having Babies

Of the many pieces of advice thrust upon me during those long months before baby arrived, by far the best came from my friend Joy. "It will take you a while to lose the weight." No big shocker there. But then seeing my misunderstanding, she qualified that with, "No, you'll look a good five months pregnant for several weeks." Now there's a new thought. Because some extra rolls clinging to my abs is one thing, but now even the shape of my body will be different? What about that "deliverance" from pregnancy? How long does this after baby stick around? Maybe that won't happen to me.

So when I find myself an hour after Olivia squeezed through the birth canal, buck-naked in the bathroom with the nurse helping me change gowns and clean left over inner thigh goo, my first thought looking into the mirror was get-this-fat-suit-off-me. Forget second trimester, we're talking a full seven months pregnant form. Fluid, schmulid. I'm huge.

It takes a good two weeks for the moon-pie face aura to dissipate, another four for the uterus to snuggle back in your pelvis, and what's left is yours to keep. Contrary to my assumption, pregnancy fat is just as (if not more) authentic than Twinkie fat. There's no fat fairy twirling about granting speedy weight loss to new moms and casting anti-aerobic spells on paunchy middle-agers. Fat is fat and working it off takes an equal amount of commitment.

So five days after our second child graced us (a mere 14 months later) I wasn't surprised when the chick behind me in a burrito joint gleefully asked when I was due. Had she not been seven months pregnant herself, more than words would have been exchanged, but I tried to think about Jesus and keep my wrath in check. What followed was a graphic description of the birthing process--including the I'm-sitting-on-barbed-wired-fence-and-can't-get-off feeling that lingers for weeks--as well as my friend Joy's advice that she'd look equally disgusting for quite some time post-baby. After all, we ladies were promised a heinous delivery process, thanks to Eve and that apple, so I chalked my education lesson up to Biblical revelation. The poor girl turned a ghastly yellow, murmured something about charro beans, and slipped out sans burrito.

Comb through every pink What to Expect book at Barnes and Noble--no one will probably told you these things about your impending birth and aftermath. Bear in mind that, just like every other mom who isn't sharing your experience right now, you too will forget any of it happened.

1. People who tell you they loved being pregnant were probably institutionalized. Or should have been.

Their hair felt thick. Skin glowed. Trumpets roared. Madonna and Child. How fun it was to feel the baby kick! They got to eat anything for nine months! Feel free to call these people at 3 a.m. when Junior is kicking the crap out of your kidneys. Or when walking up a flight of stairs sends daggers through your sciatic nerve. Invite them to vomit with you thirteen weeks straight. And don't even get me started on stretch marks. Yes, that baby is precious. Getting there is not. God says so.

2. You can't shave for at least two months.

At the end of your term, forget trying to shave. There's not a razor long enough to reach those ankles and you won't care anyway. Just give it up completely at the end and get your husband to shave for you before you head to the hospital.

3. At some point, your entire wardrobe will not fit.

Buying maternity garb is a much more fun pursuit these days than in the bygone tent-fashion era, but never buy for "down the road". Buy for this month and make sure it's a big on the loose side. Always avoid pants with the thinner elastic band in the third trimester. They cut off circulation and roll down like a canoli.

4. When other moms ask you about your pregnancy, they usually use as an excuse to talk about their experience.

They're listening for any break in the conversation so they can describe their third degree episiotomy. Or how much they miss being pregnant. It comes with the territory--I do the same thing.

5. It really hurts when the doc breaks your water before the epidural.

The first go around I was already juiced up and it just felt like peeing myself in a deep sleep. NOT SO with Little Dude. That trash hurts!! Ask about it ahead of time--maybe the first doc shouldn't have done it, but I sure appreciated the soft opening to labor.

6. The pain inflicted by the baby exiting your body lasts for weeks.

Weeks and weeks of bleeding and you're supposed to put on a Madonna and Child face for the parade of intruders, er visitors, who all want a piece of you. Pain pills will be your best friend so don't be afraid to pop 'em. And the more kids you have, the more excruciating it is for your uterus to spasm shrink as you breastfeed the first few weeks. Really painful cramps! Ouch!

7. The epidural makes your legs feel like rubber chicken thighs.

Giant, Godzilla-sized drumsticks. Next time I'll ask if the doc can just unscrew them for a while until pushing starts. Get your husband to give you a shave if you start labor at home or the morning before a scheduled induction. You'll feel way better.

8. Get ready to enjoy your maternity clothes for several months.

After having Irish twins I'm just getting back into non-elastic waistband clothing. Relearning how to button and zip.

Fast forward three months after number two. I've managed to corral two tiny kids into the local children's museum and, somehow, find ourselves in the dreaded paint corner. I connect with another harried gal who's sporting a pregnancy top with a belly to match along with her year-and-a-half old daughter. After chitchat about new words our girls are spouting, I eyeball her bump. Perfectly round, slim legs and arms. Lucky chick. And then I hear myself asking, so when is the next one due? Due? No, she's forty-three and it's just taking a long time for the weight to come off. Two flushed faces, some stammering, and a speedy exit later, I realize I've become burrito girl.