Old Man Umbilicus

I knew there was a good chance that my body, after two pregnancies, would not look quite the same. I knew of the possibilities of having boobs that hung to the knees, stretch marks every which way, and even the mysterious disappearing backside. I heard rumors of having “rocks in tube socks”, of harboring a “sharpei” or “extra loaf of bread” in the lower abdominal region, of having to tuck more skin into pants than decency should allow. What I was not prepared for was the radical transformation of my belly button.

No one told me about the belly button.

After the first pregnancy, my once taut belly button became sad and droopy.

 A lifeless shell of its former self. I started referring to it as “Old Man Umbilicus.” To make matters worse, with a newborn, I no longer had the time or will to exercise regularly (four years later, I still don’t).

Looking at naked Old Man just made me depressed. 

Then came Baby #2. 

Old Man now appears to be in need of a walker and dentures. He isn’t just sad and droopy. He is downright deflated and dying a slow death. I liken him to an elastic waistband whose elastic has petrified so much, you hear snap, crackle, and pops when stretching it. And it never, ever can return to its smaller, tighter shape after stretched.

Today, I mourn Old Man Umbilicus and the belly button he once was. He sacrificed himself to bring two lives into this world. For that, I salute him. But, I tell you this… he will never, ever see the light of day again.  This has been decreed.