Remember when I said that if you can manage to look good while pregnant your score is double on the hot scale? Turns out I didn’t make that up—in a meeting this morning to talk about a feature I’ve been working on, called Playboy’s Hot Market, one of the men I work with said that he finds pregnant women to be especially sexy. I was so embarrassed (but let’s be honest, thrilled), I responded with a self-deprecating joke, along the lines of, “You’re a great liar, Mr. Playboy Executive, but do you think my body will ever look like hers?” pointing up to Heidi Montag Pratt’s upcoming Playboy pictorial in the September 2009 issue on the wall, where she gets down to her skivvies showing a lot of side-boob but not much else.
Even her perfect-looking—read: surgically enhanced—side-boob was a reminder of my body of yore, the one I’ll probably never see again, even with the help of the city’s best plastic surgeons. Not that I’d ever considered that option in the past but, hey, pancake-like, deflated boobs are not something I’d ever considered either, but I’m told that’s what I should expect when this having kids nonsense is over. And mine are/were pretty perky to begin with…
Speaking of boobs, something really weird has been happening to mine lately. Though they don’t seem to be growing anymore—my biggest growth spurt came in the first trimester—my nipples are taking on an unusual form. Whereas I’ve always had round, flat nipples, now they’re starting to look more like torpedoes ripe for sucking. It freaked me out the other day when I was about to get in the shower and noticed a flap where my nipple used to be, and some sort of white, dry, crusty substance, that I’ve since learned is colostrum. I grew so queasy from the site of this that I almost fainted. No joke.
“Welcome to motherhood,” I can just hear my doctor saying if I were to bother her with a phone call about this. Of course I wouldn’t bother her, because I know she wouldn’t bother calling me back. I decided to tell a friend instead, Stacey, who proceeded to regale me with nipple tales of her own, none of which actually comforted me.