There are women out there who are made entirely of elastic.
They move among us like normal women and you'd never know they existed until someone knocks them up and then it becomes very clear that they are hiding a dark and intimidating secret.
Like every other pregnant woman they gain weight. They eat everything in sight and their bodies will stretch beyond recognition but as soon as they've given birth, they snap back into shape, put on bikinis and laugh at us.
I am not one of these women.
Before I had my daughter, my body was by no means perfect but being in my late 20's it still had the ability to defy gravity somewhat. Admittedly, age sneaks up on you like Nosferatu and pokes little holes in your gravity suit with its pointy, withered fingers while you sleep but pregnancy has a lot to answer for and NO ONE warns you about some of this shit.
I used to have brilliant boobs. They were like the 'baby bear's bed' of the breast world; not too hard, not too soft- just right. They recognised one bra size and slept happily in there for years, unaware of what was about to become of them.
The best way to describe it is, quickly blow up a balloon. See how round and firm it is? Touch it. Cop a feel if you will and marvel at the sheer beauty of its bounciness.
Now deflate it. See how it shrivels up and just hangs there, looking a bit sheepish? Good, now draw a nipple on it and say hello to your post pregnancy breasts.
Perhaps I am one of the unlucky ones but my 'right in the centre' nipples are now made of lead and are pulling my tits southwards.
Towards hell I imagine.
My stomach was an area I was quite proud of. Without too much effort it was toned and I even had a belly button ring. It was a very nice belly button ring and I would wear it in public so that people would know I had one and admire it along with me.
Now my stomach is made entirely from porridge and I have a 'kangaroo pouch' which, regardless of how many sit ups I do refuses to piss off. The belly button ring has now been banished to a box labelled 'Once Upon a Time'.
I also keep my sex life in there.
My face was the one area (apart from my ears and eyeballs) which didn't change shape or inflate during pregnancy. In fact, all those lovely rage inducing hormones actually cleared my skin up and gave me that lovely pregnancy glow I'd heard so much about.
Now that my child is 6 and I haven't slept properly for around 2500 days, I have permanent dark circles under my eyes and the constant yawn on my face makes me look like the 'Scream' by Munch.
I didn't look at my vagina after my child was born. Not that I looked at it that regularly beforehand but I have to admit, I was frightened to. I was afraid I would hold the mirror down there and would see a Jabberwocky staring back at me. Of course there wasn't, but I was completely aware of the trauma my vagina had been through and didn't see how it wouldn't look a bit wrong afterwards. I'm happy to announce that it doesn't look any weirder than it always has... and I now realise it's statements like this that that keep me single.
My arse didn't change that much during pregnancy. It's still pretty much the same size it was before but the highlight of last year was having a chat with a rather young handsome doctor about my piles and then wondering if I'd be able to strangle myself with his stethoscope before he could utter the words 'very common after pregnancy.'
No one informed me of this and I wish to god they had. Don't get me wrong, they have only appeared once since giving birth and have since vanished again but to all those men out there who've ever wondered just how hard you need to push to deliver a baby?
IMAGINE PUSHING SO HARD THE INSIDE OF YOUR BOTTOM FALLS OUT.
Now consider this very carefully and don't ever complain about anything. Ever again.
I'd just like to take this moment to laugh at you if you're about to have your first child, unless you're made of rubber. If so, let's play a game of how many middle fingers am I holding up right now?