Stage 1: Denial. This isn't a new butt. It's the same awesome butt I had eight years ago when I met my husband.
Stage 2: Shock. Well, it's technically the same butt, but for some mysterious reason it doesn't fit into the pants that fit me so nicely in August. But there's no way it could be so drastically altered after having a baby. COULD it?
Stage 3: Anger. Fine. It's not the same butt. Just because it now takes up its own continent.
Stupid, annoying butt and its stupid, annoying big-ness! Is it possible to get a restraining order so that I don't have to look at it anymore?
Stage 4: Depression. No dice. It turns out you can't get a restaining order against your own body. And when you inquire about it, people laugh at you. And that makes you cry. As do the size 8's I just bought, which still cause these lovely muffin tops. So much for those lying liars who said my body would go back. They must have gotten to keep their original cute butt, sans muffin tops.
Stage 5: Guilt. I am a grown woman. I have a masters degree. I know that women are more than just hot bodies. I know that objectification is cruel. And by God, I created a person out of two cells! I am awesome! And yet... this butt. IT.WON'T. GO.AWAY.
Stage 6: Fear: I probably have Flesh Expanding Butt Disease. It's very rare, but if you get FEBD your butt will eventually consume your entire body, preventing you from leading a normal life. There is no cure for this horrible ailment. Best to just go buy a bunch of sweatpants.
Stage 7: Acceptance. Right. So it isn't that bad, really. There are a few perks to this new butt. It's easier to close the car door now. If I fall, it will probably hurt less. Besides, Casey likes it... maybe this new butt is kind of growing on me...