I closed my kanga in the oven door (Britne)

Age-26
1 pregnancy, 1 birth, Zoey, age 16 months.
Photos: 1- 15 weeks pregnant, 2. 40 weeks pregnant, 3. Kanga!! (16 months after birth)

After being told I would never have a child (due to PCOS) I did the impossible; I conceived naturally and quite by surprise. Now, my bright and beautiful 16-month-old daughter lives up to her name, Zoey, meaning life. I have never, EVER, been so entertained since having a child. Of course, having a child brought on the all the “joys” of a life-changing event. Including, but not limited to the pregnancy acne, hair growth, mood swings, pain of a c-section, and of course the beloved kangaroo sack of hanging skin that seems to drape ever-so-gracefully over my crooked c-section scar.

A few days ago, I was cooking dinner. Which I happen to do quite frequently since my husband likes to eat, and I mean EAT. Well, this particular night, my daughter was doing the whole hangy/pully off the clothes thing on my leg and I gently pushed her over a bit. Well she got mad and grabbed the bar that runs across the oven door and pulled the oven open. Well, me being me, I just pushed her back and went to close the oven door while turning off a burner at the same time. Lo and behold, my dang kanga belly got pinched when I leaned up and over to the burner controls, and I mean a good gob of flesh that was pinched, while shutting the door. I nervously yanked my Kanga out of the oven and quickly looked to see if my hubby had saw what had happened. Thankfully, he was too engrossed with his NHL Stanley Cup Finals. Ive come to terms with bad-ole-Kanga, learning what underwear “holds” Kanga in, and let me tell you it is not any Victoria’s Secret thongs anymore. In fact, my hubby was folding clothes and held up a pair of full-butt panties and exclaimed “wow, hun, are these yours?” I said “Of course not, they are Megs.” Meg is a friend of mine that visits and who leaves clothes at my home since she lives a bit away. The coolest part of Kanga (lol), is when my daughter finds rolls of lipstick or markers that she should not have and brings them to “show” me and I quickly hide them underneath Kanga/in the fold of my leg because she has figured out the whole behind-the-back thing.

On another note, my daughter is obsessed with bellybuttons, and frequently pulls up her shirt in stores to show people her bellybutton much to my mortification and then wants you to pull your shirt up and show her your bellybutton. Well, of course I play this game at home, but the sad part is with all the extra skin from Kanga, my daughters little finger just kept going and going into the space where my bellybutton is. For some reason, pregnancy has made my bellybutton hole deeper, or maybe its just the extra skin folding into itself. So instead, we play “find Daddy’s bellybutton and Mommy’s ear.” My husband is naturally thin, although Zoey will not touch his tummy for some reason (although his tummy is a bit hairy, so think it is rather scary to her.) Not only does she want to look at your bellybutton, but she also wants to blow on your tummy and make the gassy noise. I’m all game for that, but when she did this to the inside of my leg I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Its bad enough that my daughter thought my leg was my stomach.

For sums, I wouldn’t trade being a Mommy for anything. I look at my ultra-thin/sexy/successful neighbor and sometimes I am jealous. Jealous of her freedom, good looks, ability to get more sleep than I do, and probably most of all for being a little selfish and putting herself first. We throw ourselves away when we become a Mommy, I am just learning how to dig myself out of the dumpster and recycle myself. Ive lost about 15 pounds now, and I am exercising daily. I no longer look at Kanga and feel disgust, I look and I see LIFE, my ZOEY.