I Just Want to Stalk You, Smell You and Sex You Up – Don’t Read This, Dad.
Posted on October 8, 2012
I am here to tell you, there is time after becoming a mother to throw on a pair of high heels and stalk celebrities, but this (for most) must be achieved cleverly. Pawning baby off on Hubby in order to sniff out a very attractive British comedian without raising suspicion wasn’t exactly difficult, due to Hubby’s obsession with his mini-Jedi. The night I went out to stalk Russell Brand, with my breasts jacked up to Jesus and my eyes painted up like a common whore went a long way to revitalizing my spirit and served as a reminder that I am not dead. I am a mother, yes. But I can still pull out acts of pure unadulterated stupidity and fun. Just for the hell of it. Though, after sobering up from the high that is Mr. Brand, true to form I took my night of fun and turned it on its head.
It is difficult, I think for most of us to regain a little bit of the free-spirited casual nature of our pre-baby selves. It’s been eight weeks since my son was born and in recent weeks I have been in hot pursuit of recapturing a little bit of my freedom, some irreverent fun and most of all, some sensuality and physical sexiness. Two of the three were easy. Hubby has encouraged my taking time for myself since day one. He’s let me go to movies with friends, dump the baby on him for coffee dates, and has let me continue to write in an environment free of distractions. So my freedom remains intact because of his efforts. Irreverent fun is Bestie’s responsibility and she out did herself by letting me tart myself up and accompanying me to the casino for a night of gambling and stalking depravity. (It. Was. Awesome.) However, the third quality I wished to regain has been difficult and I don’t think it is surprising to anyone that it continues to elude me.
Was I sexy before baby? Well you’d have to ask the person who knocked me up to get a straight answer but as far as I am concerned sexiness wasn’t so much something I inherently had but rather something I could pull off if I needed to. You put a little effort behind anything really and usually it comes up Milhouse, right? But after baby … I needed a little bit more convincing than in the past. Let’s face it, pregnancy is a long and difficult process. I didn’t feel sexy at all, ever. But I thought once my body was my own again it would all fall back into place. Well, so far? Not so much. Even though I am still me, I`m not me in the sense that putting on a push-up bra and eyeliner works to make me feel feminine like it used to. Why? Probably because I am somebody’s mom now. I have to learn to feel sexy as a mother and that is no easy task. There are some huge issues standing in the way.
One. The new jelly belly. Ok, so I had a bit of a belly before Jonah. But if I wore the right pants, sacrificed breathing deeply and sucked the excess in, my tummy was pretty taut. It was doable is what I am saying. Hiding my belly was doable because I had muscles. Now those muscles have been hacked through and even though they sewed me up the muscles themselves have lost some integrity. Now my belly hangs a little bit and wiggles like peach jello. This is an attribute that is difficult to make sexy. At night I secretly yell at my jelly belly because it hasn’t returned to normal even though I am back down to my pre-pregnancy weight. I did some work in order to achieve that. Mr. Jelly Belly has done shit all. Just hangs there all day swinging in the breeze. Not cool. Makes it a little hard to be confident, and feeling sexy and like a woman takes confidence. More than you think.
It is also hard to move back to who you were mentally and physically when you’re going back and forth in your mind on the question of second baby. Hubby and I thought we would just let nature take its course and run with whatever it threw at us. So in laymen’s terms not take any precautions. Ok, fine. This is all well and good in some ways; I guess to a degree it takes the pressure off of making what should be an informed decision. But it also leaves me in limbo. Not only am I in mommyville (all day pajamas and showers a thing of the past) but I’m also a little bit still in pregnancy land then too if it could befall me any day, you know? With the weight of all that on me, I am not concentrating on “sexy,” I am concentrating on being a mama and I am not one of those people who feel like a MILF or a sexy mom. For me these two women are very far apart and don’t meet even though they are within me simultaneously. Anyway, we’ve decided now to wait on second baby for at least a year. Not because two little ones would be SO much work in the short term but because a pregnancy now would mean a guaranteed c-section and risk of busting up my incision. You know, a KA-BOOM situation. Honestly? The thought of having my two babies before thirty years of age is so appealing because it seems possible to me to regain a little bit of what once was before it is too late (and my tits are in my shoes.)
It has been difficult to walk this fine line. Being a mother is just so indescribably good, but at the same time I am growing older and changing. The sexual and sensual aspects of my life are also growing and changing. They are growing in importance. After having my first child I am feeling more womanly, yes. But trying to have the duality of maternal individual and sexual creature is more like a divide in my world. Yet, I desperately want to be how I was… I must have been a little sexy people – I did make a baby after all.
I suppose this all comes back to one of my biggest regrets. I spent too long as a prisoner in my own body. When I wasn’t over weight (in high school) I thought that I was. So I was just a shadow of who I should have been. Then, the emotional scars of the past helped me gain weight later on, robbing me of the time in my life where I could have developed and fulfilled my sexual life. I guess you can’t regret what has led you to where you are in life now, when your life is so blessed it is possibly unfair, but there it is. A little twinge of regret because now my world is so categorically different, and it can’t ever go back. I want to ask the universe if this is a cruel joke. I’ve always said I was a late bloomer, I just didn’t realise in how many aspects that would remain true.
I have such a beautiful son … but I struggle to understand where it all came from because I just don’t see it in myself like I should. Like maybe I once did. How to be a mother at twenty-six and a sexually confident woman I’ll never know. Perhaps I should have slept with Russell Brand to find out.
Damn missed opportunities.