2009 December 06 | Heir to Blair

Let me begin this post with a bold declaration:
If you fit into your pre-pregnancy jeans within a month of giving birth, lack the stretch-mark covered spare tire that parades as motherhood’s mascot, or even lost weight during the pregnancy, this post is not for you. In fact, I’ll go as far to say that right now, I kind of hate you. Even if I don’t know you. Hell, even if you’re my long-lost identical twin sister. YOU CAN BITE ME. I say that with love, admiration, & simultaneously, sincerity of my biting dislike.

Let me also begin with two disclaimers:
1) This post is not a fish for compliments. I appreciate anyone that feels the need to tell me that I look amazing, etc but this is an honest post regarding my own self-image in hopes that others may understand.
2) I KNOW how much I enjoyed cupcakes during my pregnancy. Believe me, I’m the one that ate them & GOOD GOD HOW TASTY THEY WERE. There were many times that I chose a slice of pizza over a Slim Fast shake during those 41 weeks & I have nobody to “blame” for this post but myself. So there, Anonymous. I took care of your impending douche-tastic comment for you. You’re welcome.

Now that we have business settled, I invite all of my muffin-topped mommas to join me around a plate of cupcakes rice cakes to lament our new figures. Because holy shit, is my body different. People have been very sweet the past seven weeks when they say, “Wow, you look awesome!” Because I know there is an implied for just having had a baby that goes unspoken.

I cannot fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans, thanks to the extra 15 lbs of baby-weight I’m still carrying. (yes, 15 lbs is the final count. did I mention that I had to take effing water pills like a 90-year-old man to finally drop the last 5 lbs of fluid?!) Yet my maternity jeans won’t stay up without the belly.

So few weeks ago, I finally caved & bought jeans.

Wait a sec while I heave a heavy, dramatic sigh. ::sigh::

I think as a female, I can say with confidence that jeans shopping ranks up there with bikini shopping for all of woman-kind. Every pair fits differently, every brand fits different, and if you’re tall, good luck finding jeans with an inseam that don’t prepare you for a trip on Noah’s Ark. I loathe shopping for jeans. A wee bit ago, I finally bit the bullet & tried on designer jeans, beginning a two-year love affair with Seven for All Mankind denim. Needless to say, my precious Sevens still lay tucked away in my dresser drawers. Sure, I can get them up over my thighs. They’re a wee bit tight on my hips. But buttoning them across Phyllis & her disciples? FORGET IT.

So I’ve been rocking my maternity jeans. Quite happily, if I must admit. Elastic waist, y’all…who wants to give that up? I move freely, going potty is a breeze, & if I chow down at the buffet line, I don’t have to check to be sure my belly button is still intact when we get home from dinner. I simply wore a long tank-top under my shirts to cover the evidence of the full panel. Unfortunately, as my swelling subsided, my Motherhood Maternity jeans began falling off of me. So I implemented my Bella Band again. & then I realized, my wardrobe had crossed the line to ridiculous. Maternity jeans – check. Bella Band to hold up said maternity jeans – check. Tank top to cover said Bella Band that covers said maternity jeans – check. Shirt to cover said tank top that covers said Bella Band that covers said maternity jeans – check!

& then I realized…it was time to face the music. I cannot, in good mental stability, continue the insanity of that wardrobe. Nor can I button my pre-pregnancy jeans. Which leaves me with the only option of shopping for new normal-people denim. I began at New York & Company. Before Harrison, I wore a size 12 or 14 in jeans. So I picked up a size 16 & a size 18. They were big in the legs & butt. & nowhere near buttoning. FAIL. So I went into Talbots Women, figuring a “woman’s” size would give me more girth in the waist. They do not carry long jeans. FAIL. I tried on four different sizes & three different styles in Lane Bryant, only to face the option of highly unflattering jeans. At this point, I thought that maybe I should just stay in maternity pants. For another 6 months until I drop the 15 pounds I have left to shed. BECAUSE THAT’S NOT A DEPRESSING THOUGHT AT ALL, right? So I stomped into Old Navy & left with a pair of cheap jeans that look terrible on me. No, really. They look AWFUL.

So it boils down to me needing to lose weight. & I HATE losing weight. No, really. You know how there are people out there that claim to hate losing weight, yet they’re always jumping on the new fad diet, living off meal replacement bars, or starving themselves? Yeah. I’m not one of them. I have happily carried around about 10 extra pounds for the past six years, simply so that I do not have to diet. & I’ve always been confident to handle those pounds, knowing that I’m curvy & my husband likes meat on a woman. ”More cushion for the pushin’” is our motto. Yet behold the evolution of Blair in the past year:

desktop1 Little Miss Blair sat on her chair, eating her cupcakes & pizza.

July 2008. January 2009, after Harpie. 8 weeks pregnant in February 2009. & now.

Considering that I gained 3-5 lbs with Harpie, 10 lbs between the pregnancies, then 15 lbs with Harrison, I cannot squeeze into ANY of my clothes. & I have yet to find anything that looks remotely flattering enough to purchase. Yesterday, I attempted to find a few things at Target, only to not be able to zip a size 18 skirt. & I couldn’t believe it. I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS MY BODY. & it hit me with actual reality that at this point, it’s time to diet. It’s time to exercise. I’m not comfortable in my clothes. I hate being in pictures. I hate seeing pictures of me. & for the first time since my sophomore year in high school, I’m not comfortable with my body image.

& that’s the despairing part & the motivating part. I WANT to feel pretty. I WANT to feel desirable. I WANT to want to be in pictures with my son, & look back & know that I did look & feel awesome, without the implied for just having had a baby.