Anatomy of a Mother

Becoming a mother of two has changed my anatomy in some serious ways.

I used to have one stomach to feed. Now I have three. Except my brain only has a direct line to one of the stomachs, so I have to speculate as to the hunger status of the other two.

I used to have two feet. Now I have six, four of which are rather mutinous and like to run in all sorts of directions, especially if there’s a parking lot involved.

Let’s not talk about the miles and miles of intestines I have acquired. But we can talk about my three bladders, which all together, seem to have the capacity of a walnut.

I have three tongues, each with its own set of taste buds. My first tongue is an omnivore that loves all sorts of cuisine. My second tongue is an herbivore that subsists almost entirely on strawberries and crackers. My third tongue is a carnivore that comes running if there’s even a rumor of hot dogs.

I have six hands. It’s incredibly how I’ll be using two hands to clean up Mess #1 while the other four are making Messes #2-999.

I only have one third of a brain.

During the summer, I have enough skin to cover an American football field.

And my heart? I still only have the one, but it has doubled-tripled-quadrupled in size and feels love more infinite than infinity.

Despite its strangeness, I would not change one detail of my bizarre anatomy.