My father thinks I'm a monster

My father had a look at my blog today and read the article about my brother, his youngest child and only boy. (Which I have actually deleted from this blog, "coz it was a little rough. If you're interested, send me a comment with your email and I'll forward it on.) He was a little annoyed at my slamming of my brother – at least I think he was annoyed because when I asked – “Whattya think?” He said – “You are a monster.” I also think he was a little scared. Scared at the sarcasm and vitriol, and also scared at my ability to pinpoint what was troubling me and capture that in words. He asked – “what do you write about me?”

Well, I haven’t got there yet, Daddy. Whilst I do have many, many stories to tell about the relationships within my family and the corresponding emotional results, I am not going to expose ‘em here. I'll save that for the novel (in process!!) and for the visits to my therapist when I have the time to find a therapist and to actually go. This blog is about ME, ME, ME, and how I see the world around me now that I am a mother; a mother of twins. This is a place for me to boo hoo about how tough it is for me and to try and make my fans laugh (insert chuckle here). I am not out to hurt anyone’s feelings or to act like a monster, I am out to let other MOT know that they are not alone in feeling not a single soul on God’s green earth can possibly understand what life is like as a Mother of Twins. I know there are other women out there in cyber-land who have sisters and brothers and parents and in-laws and who love them and are enraged by them in the same moment. What I have discovered within me since the birth of my boys, and I don’t really know why it hasn’t surfaced before, is the freedom to speak. The freedom to say how I feel, in person or on line, and the freedom to feel it is okay to have negative thoughts and feelings; it’s normal and healthy and realistic. What is not normal or realistic is to expect everything to be David Bowie Hunky-Dory anytime soon. Everyone expects me to "be better soon" but I am still in pain, still in a daze and still, sometimes, in a rage. I get these awful burning angry feelings boiling up in me like milk in a sauce pan. You hear it, you can see it and you know it'll make a big mess if you let it go, but sometimes, you just don't catch it in time. Don’t worry about the babies, I have my temper tantrums in my head and on line. But I have them...

In my latest, very mainstream, Parenting magazine, and in a corresponding Baby Center Bulletin are articles on Feeling Good about your Post-Baby Body. Some women had responded to the posted question – How do you feel about your body NOW, and I ( of course) had to chip in a comment of my own. Here’s what I posted in the “your comment here” space:

How do I feel about my post-baby body? Lemme tell ya: I carried my twins for 39 weeks, therefore, my body is ravaged. My twins are now 10 months old, so what I see now is what I have to keep. My feet are a full size larger, my carpal tunnel hasn't gone away, I have spider veins, a HUGE scar from the emergency C-section, a nasty, flabby flap of skin half hanging over the scar, but not covering it, and my stretch marks have stretch marks, like seersucker fabric. I have stretch marks on my thighs (I gained almost 80 pounds) I was a size 8/10, now I am a 10/12 because my belly flab, even in control top panties (yes! I'm wearing a girdle!) is pretty big. However, my rear end is almost flat, so all my jeans are baggy in the butt. Nobody's body could look worse than mine. But then again, no body's baby could possible be more adorable than either of my boys.

I haven’t checked the site to see if there were any comments on my comment, but I am really not that interested in other people’s opinions (or have you already figured that one out?) I am trying to get back into some semblance of my former sexy self - I go running almost every day, and watch what I eat, but alack alas! only cosmetic surgery can save me now. My generous husband has said, several times, that he would be happy to look into a tummy tuck if it will make me happy (and shut me up at the same time, no doubt), but I don’t want to do it. I almost died whilst having the babies – I had pre-eclampsia and absurdly high blood pressure and all the complications that go with those conditions. If I decided to have a "routine cosmetic procedure", and then died, for real this time, under anesthesia or something, I would feel like a real idiot. No, I’ll just keep on keeping on and continue to hate my belly and love my babies. Battle scars...they are battle scars, I tell myself.

I wonder what my dad will have to say about that?