Boobs & belly buttons. Not two body parts you’d think would have a whole lot in common, eh? But for me, they represent the two most scary aspects of my pregnancy: the future of my boobs and belly button.
I’ll start with the less obvious one, my belly button. When I was 18, I was overcome with a fit of rebellion. I chopped off my long hair and got my belly button pierced. My dad said it looked terrible, which, of course, solidified just how cool I thought it looked. I continued thinking it looked cool for a couple years, I think mostly out of sheer defiance. Pretty soon, though, as more and more people got their belly buttons pierced, I realized just how silly it looked. The silliness only increased as my weight did. I haven’t worn a ring in it since I was probably about 21, and have looked for miracle piercing-closing things, but alas, it turns out these things are permanent (yes, Dad, I know that’s exactly what you said). Now, fast forward a few years, and I am watching my belly button get shallower and shallower. It’s collapsing inward, too. I’ve always thought popped belly buttons are just adorable, but have you ever seen a picture of a popped belly button with an unused piercing hole? Not the most attractive thing. In some of the pictures, the piercing hole pokes all the way up on top of your popped belly button, and it looks like a poor kindergartener’s attempt at a clay rhinoceros. This is one of my greatest fears: an ugly popped belly button. What if it doesn’t go back? All because I thought being a rebel was just the coolest thing since sliced bread. Thank goodness I never let my rebellion spread all the way to a tattoo.
My second fear of pregnancy is probably a pretty normal one, but the fact that it’s a normal fear doesn’t make it any less of a fear. My poop ta-tas. I’ve always been well-endowed. They joined my body my freshman year and have plagued my back ever since. I’m a true big-busted woman: I hate them. Always have, always will. No clothes fit right, they make me look 20 pounds heavier, I have indentations on my shoulders from my bra straps, etc. So it’s not like I’m bemoaning the loss of a great friend. But still, they’re my totters, and, for better or worse, we’ve been through a lot together. They’re not the best, but they’re not the worst, either. Unfortunately, they can very easily become the worst. Since they’re so big, I may soon have to pick them up off my ugly popped belly button to say hello, which is not a reality I’m ready to accept. What if they start to say hello to my feet instead of the world?
Of course, most people say that once Baby M enters the picture, I’ll forget all about my body and just care about him. Well, I just really doubt that. It’s a nice thought, me not caring about myself because I’m too busy expending all my love on my little bundle of joy, but, call me selfish, I think I’ll still care what the ladies look like.
No other aspect of my pregnancy scares me as much as these two. Talking about giving birth (with all my friends’ gory details) doesn’t scare me as much as the future of my boobs and belly button. The prospect of never again getting a full night’s sleep doesn’t scare me as much.