Wordless Wednesday: Gut feelings

OK, folks, once again, no cute pictures of my kids this week.  Instead... Me!

Yes, it's 1987, hence the curly mullet, but look at that waist!

This is me at 27.  When I still had a waist.  I just needed to prove it, as today, once again, someone thought I might just possibly be a little bit... pregnant?

Really, people, I'm 50.  That ship has sailed.  I'm a little sad about it, but mostly?  Resigned. 

That thing making my belly stick out?  Is my belly.  Unoccupied (unless bagels count as life forms).

Also?  Obviously all the death-watch stress eating and my twin-pregnancy induced severe Diastasis Recti (abdominal muscle separation) are taking their toll on my body.  I need to do something about that last thing.  Although reading all about Mommy Wants Vodka blogger Aunt Becky's rocky recovery from the surgical repair of this same condition has given me pause.

It's surgery.  Major surgery.  Not for sissies.  And me?  Big 'ol sissy about this stuff.  The only time I have ever been a patient in a hospital?  Having the twins via C-section.  I know I'm terribly lucky that way.  And also?  Able to stay as sissy as I wanna be.

But one of these days, I'm going to have to have the surgery.   My abdominal muscles just can't support my back and internal organs properly, all ripped up like this.   I had thought I would do it when the boys were 3 or 4; old enough to understand that "Mommy's just had surgery so leave her alone, she's resting in bed" is not an open invitation to climb up onto the bed with her and jump around doing cannonballs onto her belly.

And the kids had to be old enough to understand that my not being able to lift them up was not a rejection of them.  They had to be out of the "flinging themselves through the air and into my arms every time I came into the room" phase.

Also?  I had to be really, truly, 100% certain there were no more kids coming down the pike, because once sewn up, those muscles just don't stretch any more; rip, rip, ouch. 

That was all before we realized we were waltzing with Autism, and that 8 year-old Jacob is capable, in his enthusiasms, of completely ignoring instructions to be gentle.  He will fling his 80 pound self at me, expecting me to be able to catch him, looking up in confusion when he finds he has bowled me over, a full grown golder retriever that still thinks it's a puppy.

So the surgery is still on hold, for now.

And you know, I think I am going to stuff a picture of the adorable kids in here after all.   I was uploading some photos the other day, and came across a long-lost-and-then-found chip housing a big chunk of 2007.  Here's a nice one of all four of us on summer vacation in the Berkshires: 

 On Aunt Patty & Uncle Jimmy's porch, Summer 2007

Because, 1987?  Skinnier.  But 2007?  Happier.  With my family.


I’m linking up to Wordless Wednesday at Angry Julie Monday.
I'm also linked to Special Exposure Wednesday at 5 Minutes for Special Needs.