Seriously, are people this stupid? Kate, like the rest of us mortal postpartum moms who instinctively fall in love with the thing that's been pulled from between our legs only to be suctioned, without warning, onto our nipples, is mortified. Mortified that after an entire person and what felt like gallons of water and a good portion of her insides just poured out of her body, she still looks pregnant. Like the rest of us, she's a multi-tasker, and she is perfectly capable of adoring her newborn while she obsesses about what the whole sordid affair has done to her body.
The truth is, if I had looked as skinny everywhere else as Kate does, I would have demanded a public viewing and a photo op as well. Like most mortals though, I did not emerge from labor and delivery with a cute little bump that has nothing to do with excess fat. My rather amorphous and hideous bump was just one of many atrocities I sported after birth. My once small breasts were replaced by mutant looking watermelons protruding at odd angles from my chest, unsightly bloat distorted my face, and some mysterious gravitational force suddenly pulled my butt cheeks down toward the backs of my knees. And I did not emerge from the hospital wearing a "made just for me" robin's egg blue polka dot dress and stylish pumps. Hardly. I wore old sweats and stuffed my waterlogged feet into flip flops. I won't even mention the ice pack that was strapped into my torn granny pants. Or the greasy matted hair that was weeks away from being touched by anyone, much less a royal stylist.
I say all this with not an ounce of disdain for Kate. As tall and thin and free of excess bloat as she is, the only difference between me and Kate (okay, for purposes of this particular conversation) is that she has a staff. Otherwise, she, like me and mortal women everywhere, was no doubt just as focused and obsessed about her appearance as she was about her newborn child. Like the rest of us, she looked at herself in the mirror in horror and wondered what kind of misogynistic God lets an entire person and gallons of water and a good portion of your insides pour out of you (all while you're suffering indescribably intense pain) and then keeps you looking as if none of this has happened.
Kate's lucky in a lot of ways. It may have been annoying listening to thousands of people she doesn't know mill around outside while she was experiencing what should have been an intensely personal life changing event, but at least nobody will approach her in a restaurant in the coming weeks and ask her when she is due. Sometimes publicity has its perks, and I, for one, would have given just about anything to be spared that particular (and repeated) morale buster.
Again, kudos to Kate for not hiding the bump. But since when do carefully orchestrated (and coiffed and outfitted) public appearances tell us anything? Duchess love, like garden variety mother love, will reveal itself every day, behind closed palace doors, long after the bump disappears. Or, heaven forbid, even if it doesn't.
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