My body is drastically different. Aliens invaded it and now they’re gone and I’m left with the aftermath. Every day I tell myself that I’m hot. I’m young. I’m with it. I mean this is called the MILF report. And everyday I discover new and unusual changes.

Today for instance as I stepped out of the shower I noticed a new vein. After the first baby I had a ton of varicose veins on my legs and spent much of my second pregnancy wearing these sado- masochistic leggings. I know you think leggings are harmless but you haven’t spent 40 minutes sweating and panting while trying to squeeze your ass into your special ‘compression stockings.’ The stockings are meant to keep the veins in and I see now that mine have failed. On top of which they are about four sizes too small and as a result ‘compress’ everything. All your juicy blubber gets sucked into this insane leggings vacuum. They bring new meaning to the word tight.

Really though the stockings and the veins are the least of my worries. The other day I pissed myself laughing. Literally peed myself while I laughed. I’m told this is completely normal and all women need to strengthen their Kegel muscles to avoid it. Just a byproduct of pregnancy. One night you’ll be out at Yuk Yuks only to find you’ve left a puddle on your chair. Brilliant.

And if that isn’t bad enough my boobs have exploded.

Pregnancy 1: I rant and rave about my fabulous Dolly Parton boobs and how it’s so fantastic to see them fill with milk and grow to these proportions.

Pregnancy 2: They’re getting a little big and a lot more droopy, but damn they’re still fine.

Post Pregnancy: Man these are heavy. I need a new nursing bra. I go to my favourite nursing boutique in the city (Evymama) to buy a new bra.

I’m getting fitted for the bra when the sales associate says, ‘Ok great so you’re a G, H” and I nonchalantly say, “What’s that a new brand of bra, new slang for ‘Happy Go-lucky?”

She says, “No. No/ No. Not an A cup, not a B cup not a C cup—but a G/H cup.” My jaw drops to the floor—I had no idea sizes even went that far. “Holy shit! Do they come in X, Y and Z as well?!”

I gasp as I’m thinking there’s a distinct possibility I might run my boobs through the whole damn alphabet. Panic sets in. I go home and attempt push ups hoping somehow that will shrink my gh’s as they’re affectionately called now.

On the upside I’ve got fabulous skin, long flowing locks and I’m more limber than a figure skater. I may be 40 lbs overweight but watch me do the splits both ways!

Plan of attack: wear stockings at least twice a week, squeeze my Kegels out at least 100 times a day, find some way to shrink boobs without losing milk supply and stop eating cookies.