I can relate to Spongebob Squarepants and the table you use for family gatherings.

This post is not for the faint of heart [stomach] or those with an active imagination. You’ll want to turn them all off before reading this.

I came to the realization today that ever since having a baby, my body is like a collapsable table.

My body parts just fold up into each other. It’s like I could pack my entire self away into a nice, neat square if I needed to. I’m like a human suitcase. Which honestly, is pretty great for travel. Nothing to check! Everything folds over onto itself. And I do mean everything.

Top to bottom, including my bottom.

Yep, my butt can fold now. Like a cloth napkin at the top of my legs.

I don’t know what the hell happened to my muscle composition/skin elasticity/joints/ligaments, but there is a lot more jiggle to my wiggle than there used to be, pre-baby.

Kellan. Just tell Mommy. Did you infuse Mommy’s body with JELL-O when you were in the womb? Did Bill Cosby tell you to do it? Mommy won’t be mad. Just tell me the truth.

And I work out, I might add. Vigorously. Weights, cardio, the whole nine. I eat healthily for the most part, too. So imagine the fold-over-ness of those who don’t.

Babies are like little mini wrecking balls to women’s bodies, knocking organs to opposite sides of the body and rerouting veins. And these wrecking balls have tiny hands wielding magic wands. With a single wave, these wands dissolve muscle to marshmallow. Turn firm to floppy. Morph a six pack into slab of raw pizza dough. Call Pizza Hut, I’m getting hangry.

Now that you’re sufficiently grossed out [which is extremely likely if you’re a dude; props for sticking with it and reading it this far], I’ll quit while I’m totally not ahead.

I’ll just leave you with this: Next time you go to rest your bones in a folding chair, think of me.

I’m going to do you a favor and not draw anything for this one. Pretty sure you’ve got enough alarming mental visuals from reading this to give you nightmares and/or an obsession with birth control for the next ten years.


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3 Responses to I can relate to Spongebob Squarepants and the table you use for family gatherings.

  1. Joan Hickey says:

    Your body turning to jello is nature’s way of preparing you for such tasks as crawling under the couch that is only 4 inches off the floor to retrieve a ball because your child is screaming like he’s had all 10 fingernails ripped out. And for getting on the backseat of the car on your knees, while ducking your head, carrying a 25 pound baby (whose body suddenly weighs 85 pounds and arches backward exorcist style when being inserted into a carseat), an overflowing diaper bag, a minimum of six toys for entertainment purposes, and your purse, or as I call it, the auxiliary diaper bag. And for opening the hatch of your car, taking out and unfolding an “easy” release stroller, while again holding all the stuff mentioned already, with the added touch of slippery nylon athletic pants on both you and the child. And lastly, being able to bend over while holding all the stuff mentioned earlier, to retrieve a binky that got dropped (thrown?), and in spite of it’s non-circular form, managed to roll under the refrigerator. None of these physical challenges could be met without the gel-like body consistency of an amoeba. Personally I love Mother Nature and her infinite wisdom in preparing us for motherhood. And the amoeba thing gets worse as we become grandmothers. Thanks Mother Nature.

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