Guest Post: Rachel McClellan on Mommy Bodies

Today my guest is Rachel McClellan, the author of Confessions of a Cereal Mother.

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One of the most difficult things a mother has to get used to is how her body changes with every pregnancy. Boobs inch closer to the floor, hips become like a half-baked bunt cake, and dimples and scar-looking lines appear in what used to be perfectly smooth skin.

In this short excerpt, the mother in Confessions of a Cereal Mother considers doing something drastic when faced with having to wear a bathing suit.

Carrying Baby, I reluctantly walk into my bedroom. My heart begins to pound and sweat pools in my pits as I come face to face with the drawer. I blow a thick layer of dust off itshandle and stare. “What do you think, Baby? Will I find one that fits?”

He barfs down the front of his shirt.

“My sentiments exactly.”

After mumbling a few words of encouragement to myself, I open the drawer. I am familiar with all of its contents, but comfortable with none of them: two short nighties, a bustier top, stockings with only one matching garter belt (the other belt had been used to tighten a Halloween costume for one of my children years ago), and an assortment of swimsuits.

I remove the swimsuit I use the most—a blue and green tie-dye one given to me by my sister in the eighties. The material is thin and the bum area so threadbare I can practically see through it. But it fits.

I hand the swimsuit to Baby and continue to rummage through the rest of the items: an unused sports bra, a floral grandma swimsuit with a skirt (a gift from my mom), and a bikini—this one I should burn.

“I guess this will have to do,” I say and wrestle the tie-dye swimsuit away from Baby.

After pulling on the stretchy material, I look at myself in the mirror. Where there should be hills, I have valleys, and where there should be valleys, I have mountains. Just then I remember a conversation I’d overheard between two farmers at church last Sunday. One had said he could fix anything with duct tape. I stick my head out the door. “Grant!”

“Yeah, Mom?” he calls back from downstairs.

“Do you know where dad’s duct tape is?”

“I used it all on my fort. Why?”

“No reason.” I frown and close the door. On to the next best thing. I grab one of my husband’s tank tops and pull it over the swimsuit. There. Mission accomplished—sort of.

Baby claps.

Confessions Blurb: In this humorous memoir you’ll discover several mind-saving rules, which include:

 - Don’t throw your pregnancy test away before the full three minutes is up.

- Unless there is a rush on the grocery store pending a zombie-virus outbreak, never take your kids shopping.

- If your toddler is going to chew on a Band-Aid, hope it’s one found inside the community swimming pools chlorinated pool and not one found in their locker room.

- Never throw up in a cookie sheet.

- Things can always get worse. You could discover your child playing with a used tampon applicator. It’s not a whistle, sweetie.

- And most importantly, the moment one of your children is seriously ill, forget about everything else. You have the greatest honor in the world – being a Mom.

What others are saying:

"A realistic and humorous take on motherhood. Are you in my house???" —Robin O'Bryant, author of Indie Best-seller, "Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves."

"Delightfully humorous with factual truths about motherhood and womanhood. You’ll immediately be hooked with her fun story-telling and hilarious hooks. A truly fantastic read that will not only lift your motherly spirit, but remind you what motherhood is truly all about… and it’s all worth it." —Karie Elordi, author of the popular blog "The Dating Divas"


Author Bio: Once upon a time, in a wonderful and carefree world, Rachel McClellan fell asleep in a warm and spacious bed, her long hair in great locks around her, and not a single blemish upon her face. Outside her window, bluebirds sang and the cloudless blue sky was full of promise. However, when she awoke she discovered gum in her now ratted hair, a tiny, chocolate fingerprint smeared across her forehead, and four very wiggly children crowding her bed. There were no bluebirds singing outside her window (or perhaps she couldn’t hear them anymore), only a tornado, pulsing with thunder and lightening. Her world was in chaos, a raging storm on all fronts. But what a perfect storm it was…

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