My Ample Abdomen Called Emergency Services
My long-empty baby apartment has a mind of its own
My stomach often moves in a different direction than the rest of my torso. It has an adipose will of its own. I spent most of my life sucking or strapping it in, to no avail.
I am not self-flagellating. I now accept my stomach in all its doughy glory.
Years before I had kids, people would ask me when I was due. I would grit my teeth, and try not to cry, as I explained that I wasn’t pregnant.
I’d make jokes about it being a Budweiser baby, or say that the rest of me was just so thin, my stomach looked big. But I would be dying inside. So I tried to beat its bulbousness into submission.
Like many Gen Xers, who grew up in the aerobics era, I starved it, did endless VHS abdominal workout tapes that would supposedly flatten it, and wore restrictive garments to tame it.
Then I stretched its limits for more than 18 months by filling it twice with my children. Anyone who doesn’t understand what happens should gradually stretch a T-shirt over their knees for nine months, and see how it looks after that…
