Warning: Do not read the below post if you want to continue to see me as a sweet, red-headed Midwest gal who does cool, creative projects. You’re view of me will be forever skewed.
Tonight is the first time I am venturing out since having Kayla. No, for real. I have not been out of my house, even to check the mail, since Tuesday. I have managed to shower, that is good right? We have a birthday party to go to tonight in our neighborhood. I figure it will be good for me to get out and see some friends. So I decide to make the dreaded decision of figuring out what to wear tonight.
I have seen myself in the mirror a few times and didn’t think I looked too bad. Then I tried to squeeze my postpartum butt into pre-pregnancy jeans. Scary to say the very least. But I refuse to wear the high panel maternity pants that graced my butt in the latter days of my pregnancy. After trying on about 10 pairs of jeans, I lock myself in my closet (slamming the door on hubby’s face) and start crying. I heard a still, small voice say “Hello, you had a baby 5 days ago, give yourself a break.” But then I heard a louder voice screaming, “Hey fat lard, nice butt” – but the voice didn’t say it that nice. So I finally find an outfit that hides enough of me (it is a beautiful brown burlap sack) and take a shower.
Why is it that I have the bustline of a swimsuit model but a waistline of a 1000 lb lady who just lost 900 lbs (sorry for the visual)? My swimsuit model days are over. Let’s be honest, my swimsuit model days were over LOOOOOOONG before children. But still. When the lower half gets back in shape the upper half will be out of shape from my little nurslings. I am doomed to have a body of a 31 year old with two kids.
Yes I am feeling sorry for myself, yes I am postpartum. Yes, my in-laws left today and life has officially begun. Ok…take a deep breath Beckie. You will make it. You are stronger than you think you are.
Meanwhile, my mind has me thinking irrational thoughts like. . .what project can I possibly make out of my leftover hospital supplies?
Sorry dad if you read this. I am still your sweet, red-headed, creative daughter.