Ketchup Is a Vegetable: And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves (4 page)

“Yeah, you would be too if you couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. I haven’t been this comfortable in nine months.”

As my labor progressed, my nurse friends kindly escorted everyone to the waiting room so I could
continue to kill my husband at Rummy
, I mean, push and stuff.

Eventually, I had to put my cards down to have a baby and when I did I realized I really wanted my Momma in the room with us. I was surprised because I had always thought it would just be my husband and me, but at that moment I wanted her to be there.

Zeb and my mother stood on either side of the bed, chatting as my epidural wore off and I began to realize what all the screaming is about on TLC’s “A Baby Story.” I actually had to interrupt the conversation they were carrying on over my head to remind them to focus, and “Do you mind maybe CHEERING or something while I push an actual human out of my vagina?!”

Aubrey was born healthy and without any complications, but she brought with her a problem I had never seen coming. I didn't even know they existed. But after the birth of my child, I began experiencing Awkward Naked Moments.

Being naked while I was in labor wasn't a big deal. I mean, I was
having a baby
and I was sort of preoccupied with the wonderfulness of my epidural slipping away just when I needed it most. And technically I wasn’t completely naked; I
was
wearing a hospital gown. I didn’t have time to daydream about all the awkwardness which was to follow.

Obviously, I had been naked in front of both my mother and my husband before — but somehow, being naked in front of both of them at the same time had set some sort of precedent. A line had been crossed and there was no going back.

Once Aubrey was old enough to take a real bath, I would often put her in the bathtub with me and call to my husband or my mother if she happened to be in town visiting, to come and get her so I could finish bathing. This somehow became a cattle call, signaling everyone in my house to come into the bathroom to watch her splash and coo — which again, would have been perfectly fine, if I hadn't been naked.

“Hey, I’m going to go get in the bathtub and bathe Aubrey. Will one of you come and get her when I’m finished?” I would ask my mother and husband.

They nodded in agreement as I marched my happy post-partum self to the bathroom for a few minutes of bath time play with my baby. Aubrey loved to be free in the water. She would become animated and giggly as she splashed and kicked her fat little legs. The louder her coos and baby talk became, the harder I would laugh and inevitably… they would come.

Zeb and Shuggie couldn’t resist the siren song of Aubrey’s squeals and laughter and they would come running to make sure they weren’t missing out on a milestone of any kind.

I was fine as long as they weren’t both in the room. To have my husband
or
my mother in the bathroom watching Aubrey splash around was fine, but both of them? It just felt
deviant
.

“What’s she doing?” My mother yelled as she skidded into the bathroom. “I can hear her laughing over the TV in the den!”

“She’s just kicking her arms and legs, every time she splashes water in her face she laughs hysterically…” I trailed off as Aubrey splashed herself in the face again and made me and my mother cackle with her.

“What am I missing?” Zeb asked as he swung around the corner into the bathroom, drawn, no doubt, by the sounds of our laughter.

“OH! Zeb it is the SWEETEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN! Every time she splashes water in her face she just laughs and laughs! Show him, Robin.” My mother answered him.

They turned to me in slow motion as I moved my baby to try to strategically use her to cover all of my naughty bits, but covering a post-partum body with a three-month old is sort of impossible. At the time, one of the Big Berthas
alone
easily outweighed my child by a good pound or two.

I tried to stay calm. I mean, what’s the problem? I had
asked
for one of them to come and get her and so what, they both came… no big deal, right?

“Hey baby! Hey, little girl!” Zeb leaned over the tub to coo at Aubrey. She grinned her toothless grin and splashed, getting water in her face and leading to more hysterical laughter.

“Aubrey, Aubrey!” My mother sang, “look at you, you sweet fat little thing!”

By this point, Shuggie and Zeb were leaning over the tub and in Aubrey’s face as I continued to desperately try to use my child to shield my coo-coo from scrutiny.

“Zeb! Zeb, go get the camera, this is just too sweet! You’ve got to take pictures, look at all those fat rolls!”

Fat rolls?
Pictures?
I was pretty sure my mother was talking about Aubrey’s fat rolls but I was horrified and too stunned to even speak. Here I was trying to get one or both of them out of the room with my kid so I could shave my legs, and
possibly
my privacy now that everyone was going to be looking at it on a daily basis and they wanted
pictures
?

“Um, I think Aubrey is ready to get out… she seems sorta, uhh, tired or hungry or something…” I said as Aubrey continued to babble and coo with happiness.

“Oh, she’s fine.” My mother said dismissively as Zeb returned with the camera.

They leaned further over the tub and my mother began jumping around and trying desperately to make Aubrey laugh again so her smile could be captured on camera. It was time for me to change my strategy. I could no longer use her to shield my body, because the closer I held her the more likely I was to appear in the pictures with her.
Naked.

I held Aubrey underneath her head and her tiny little bottom as far away from me as possible, completely exposing my Britney and tried to keep the Big Berthas from floating into the frame.

While my boobs floated around on top of the water somewhere close to my knees, I was trying to think of a nice way to tell them to get the
hell
out. Really, they didn’t both need to go, but one of them did. I wasn't picky, either one of them leaving would have eliminated all weirdness. But I couldn’t afford to piss anyone off. Because let’s face it, I had a brand new baby and I wanted as much sleep as I could possibly get and I wasn’t sure if they left how far they would actually go or when they would come back. I needed them, but I had to put an end to Awkward Naked Moments.

It progressed to the point that I would be in the shower or in my bedroom changing clothes, no cute, fat, naked baby involved to justify their behavior and my husband and my mother would inevitably wander in just to chat. Not about anything in particular, just shooting the breeze — what’s for dinner, that type of thing.

Breastfeeding didn’t help matters. (Reason #432 that I hate it.) Whipping my boobs out every two and a half to three hours was only further evidence to them that I was free and comfortable with my nakedness, and inevitably led to many more Awkward Naked Moments.

I almost said something several times but the conversations I was having in my head just sounded so juvenile:

“I know you have both seen me naked before but that was at different times. I don’t mind being seen naked by either of you, but I am not emotionally stable enough to handle both of you seeing me naked at the same time. It’s just weird. Unless I’m in labor, which means there will be drugs involved and I won’t really care.”

In my mind I pictured them looking at each other like I had lost my mind and asking me what I meant that it was “weird.” I could just hear my mother, “ROBIN, you are being ridiculous! You should be glad that anybody comes when you call for help, much less two of us! It’s not like we haven’t seen you naked before, for crying out loud. Quit acting like a spoiled brat!”

But
come on
people, being seen au natural by your husband, i.e., your luvah, and being seen by your mother, the person who changed your diapers and brought you into this world, are two totally different states of nakedness that should never, ever take place simultaneously. (Take my word on this.)

I was in my bedroom in a state of undress one afternoon talking through the wall to my husband and my mother in the living room. I had the door slightly ajar so they could hear me, when all of a sudden the door opened and they were both standing in the hallway. Zeb was eating a sandwich and my mother was just chattering away.

It was the sandwich that did it. It was one thing for them to stalk my nakedness when the baby was involved, but that sandwich really pushed me over the edge. It’s hard enough to feel sexy in front of your husband when you weigh more than he does, your breasts are bigger than his head
and
he has seen you push a baby out of your Britney. But the fact that Zeb could stand there, casually observing my nakedness… with
my mother
whilst eating a
ham sandwich
and wiping mustard off of his chin, simply blinded me with rage.

I snapped.

“I can be naked in front of one of you at a time! Do you hear me? ONE! Not both of you! It freaks me out and it has to stop now! No more family bath time! No more nudie photo shoots! No more coming in here when I’m changing! No more eating while I’m naked! No more! ONE AT A TIME!”

I slammed the door in their faces as they stood there with their jaws hanging open and finished changing. I was so relieved my Britney wasn’t going to be making any more cameos in Aubrey’s baby book that I didn’t even care if they thought I was crazy.

A
s women, most of us look forward to the day when we will have our own children. We can’t wait to take them home, bathe them, feed them and dress them up. We should have known if PMS is what precedes our monthly cycle, then all hell is liable to break loose after we go through the birth process.

I was elated when I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I couldn’t wait to be a mother. I did the same things most expectant mommies do: I planned, I nested, I bought baby name books. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms and breathe in the scent of her, to see her tiny little fingers wrapped around mine. As clueless as I was, I even looked forward to breastfeeding — bonding with my baby as I gave her the best of everything I had to offer.

The days in the hospital after having her were like a Caribbean vacation… that
exact
memory may have been caused by the Percocet, but I really was in heaven. I treasured every touch, every smile and every moment. I tried to let the nurses take her to the nursery so I could sleep, but the idea of her being away from me when she had been growing inside me for so long was almost painful.

One nurse convinced me to let her go for a few hours. “Come on Robin, she’ll be fine. I’ll take her to the nursery so you won’t wake up every time she breathes and as soon as she’s hungry I’ll bring her right back to you.”

“I don’t know…I kind of like having her in here.”

“Honey, you are going to have plenty of time with her when you go home. Let me help you while I can and take her to the nursery. You’ll get a few hours of sleep and feel like a new woman.”

“OK, I guess. You’ll bring her back if she gets hungry?”

“I sure will,” she answered as she gently rolled the bassinet to the door, when Aubrey suddenly let out a cry and I immediately recanted.

“WAIT! Just leave her with me.” I realized, with startling clarity that I was now her
Momma
. I remembered in that one precise moment, all of the times in my life when nothing would do but to be wrapped up in my mother’s arms. In the smell of soap on sale and the loving assurance that no matter my troubles — I was not in them alone.

Aubrey’s cry sent a shockwave through my nervous system that awakened the mother instinct in me. She was crying
for her mother
… she was crying for
me
. The nurse rolled her bassinet back into the room, placed my baby in my arms and left. I held Aubrey as tears rolled down my cheeks and onto her tiny, flawless face.

We came home from the hospital to find my younger sister sitting at our kitchen table, surrounded by income tax forms for her first “real” job and crying, “Do I pick zero or one? Why is this so hard? Why can’t they just tell me what they want from me?!” I put my baby down, sat with my sister and provided moral support as she filled out forms and chose her benefits package. I was an anchor in the midst of her storm. I was rolling with the punches. I was still myself, I was fine.

Five days later our neighbor brought over a Sunday dinner fit for Paula Deen’s table: pork chops, vegetables, three different salads, and dessert. I couldn’t eat one bite. Aubrey was crying, like newborns do, and it was ripping my heart into shreds. I sat at our kitchen table, where I had been an anchor for my sister and began to drown in a sea of hormones and unexplainable grief.