Chronicles of Chaos

March 6, 2008 | Print

No More Babies

There’s postpartum and there’s post-child bearing–emerging from the stage of being pregnant and setting the intent to not be pregnant any more, ever.

It sounds drastic and final–until I dream that I’m pregnant with my fourth child. The horror and fear rippling through me is so potent that when I wake, it’s quite evident that mentally and physically I’ve passed over the threshold to the no more babies me.

Which commences the beautification part of the program.

My fix-it list includes: boobs (deflated), skin (red spots and veins) and teeth (yellow).

The boobs take a week. Fortuitously, Cookie Magazine and Vogue (always good for the self improvement messages) run articles about the highs and lows of breast implants. By the second paragraphs, I’m out. I know it’s surgery, but reading the word surgery over and over ruins it for me. I was never a contender.

I’m sad for a few months about the unchangeable state of affairs. Always conscious of my inner voice, Amelia asks, “Mom, what happened to your boobs? They’re so…small.”

Then I get over it. I notice on TV that fake boobs look fake–which my guy friends pointed out 10 years ago in our BARBRI bar review class (which could be a surprising place for fakes except we were in LA), but I can’t see until now when I have a personal interest. I also decide being lighter on top is more athletic, always a draw for those of us raised in West LA.

I turn to my skin. The dermatologist introduces me to the laser, which initially appears to be a miracle for my red dots. Until after a laser treatment when a little dot on my face turns into a big dot. Luckily the dot disappears two weeks after a second doctor visit. But I learn the ease of the laser doesn’t mean that it will do what I desire.

Teeth whitening has a similar fall out. If it weren’t for the before and after photos, I might not realize that my teeth are in fact three shades lighter.

Not until the teeth though, do I sense that this instinct to clean myself up after having kids is about something else. My reason for delaying maintenance is I didn’t have time or want the exposure (chemical, etc.) of these treatments when I was still in the could be pregnant, pregnant and breastfeeding stages. And, I wanted my body to completely go where it needed to before renovating.

But most of these physical changes are aspects of aging more than pregnancies. And lightening their visibility on my body is not a solution to whatever question I didn’t realize I was asking–This will make me feel better?

It’s a relief that they don’t, because I’m learning the inevitability of genetics. The truth is I’m figuring out a new space, raising children instead of bearing children. I don’t feel badly about anything, just different–like I’m discovering new choices and different meanings.

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