Embracing the elastic.

Let’s be honest – maternity clothes are darling. Until I have to wear them, & then some black hole sucks all the cute & I’m stuck wearing cheap fabric draped like a tent over swollen ankles.

My maternity style back in 2009 was terrible; I’m not going to make any excuses for it or claim that I am a reformed now-fashionista, but I did learn valuable lessons to carry into my next pregnancy:

1) Embrace leggings. Being a tall gal (5’10″) I ran into a BIG problem in the third trimester – the dresses that properly covered me in the second trimester now rode high on my belly & exposed…well, everything. So I purchased capri leggings to wear under my work dresses, & unfortunately this was long before leggings became cute fashion staples.

2) Invest in good clothes that I love. There are two types of maternity-wearers – those that refuse to spend money since it’s a short “season” of clothing, & those that view it as a fashion opportunity. I fell under the first group & rocked many shapeless shirts I found on the $5.99 clearance rack. By the end of the pregnancy, I splurged for good pieces that fit my new body & I felt much prettier.

3) Rock the elastic. I want to find out who decided that pants should have buttons & zippers instead of elastic…& punch them in the face. Elastic is comfy & I have decided to start a petition for all pants & skirts to be made with elastic from here on out. I was in maternity pants around 5 weeks pregnant with Harrison & wore them until 12 weeks postpartum.

4) Play up the accessories. This past year, I’ve really worked on putting scarves & cardigans & cute shoes into my closet to complement more “plain” pieces, like basic t-shirts, jeans, and black shift dresses. I think it would be smart to create a maternity wardrobe with a few classic, quality pieces & build the fun & color with the accessories. babmaternityclothes Embracing the elastic.

Do you “toss in the towel” with maternity clothes & figure it’s 6 months of frump? Or do you invest in good pieces? Or were you like me & you’ve changed your mind after pregnancy?

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HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 Embracing the elastic.

Tall Girl Problems

I could write an entire blog called “Tall Girl Problems.”  I bet there’s already a blog out there about it, but I’m too lazy to check.

That goes under the blog “Lazy Girl Problems.”

bathroom3 Tall Girl Problems

That’s Morgan in one of the thousands of bathrooms at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville.  She’s not paying attention to me because a) she’s known me for 3 years & expects weird behavior or b) she’s also a blogger & understands weird behavior.

Huge bathroom, right?  Plenty o’ stalls but I still had beef with them.  See, Morgan is a short gal by tall girl standards & her head hits the top of the stall door.  This was my view:

bathroom1 Tall Girl Problems

Nope, I’m not standing on my toes.

It created an awkward moment or five after I used the facilities & had to scoot my shapewear back up over my rear.  & by “scoot,” I mean wiggled back & forth in a chicken dance until I was out of breath & my underwear was shoved up my ass, but my shapewear was on & up under my boobs so I just called it a success.  A panting, sweaty success.

That everyone got to witness as the top of my head bobbed around over the door & I looked like a drunk fish on the line.

Trout, anyone?

Smelly Feet vs Baby Kicks for Weirdest Post-Pregnancy Side Effect

Three words make the the Weirdest Thing Ever About Life After Birthing A Baby:  phantom baby kicks.

Yeah, they’re still happening two years later.

So I’m sitting there at my desk, happily tapping away at expenses & BAM! there’s a flutter in my uterus area.  It’s enough to make me take pause & freak the eff out that OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO BE ON “I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT.” 

But then I remember that I’m already doing that female thing (send nachos & wine!) & we are staunch supporters of the Trojan man & there is simply NO WAY there is a bambino kicking away in my uterus.

But still.

Totally trippy.

Random complaints about body after baby.

I have a problem.

Actually, I have two of them.

It all started after I gave birth to Harrison.  I expected the weight gain, was horrified at the water retention, & I took a little while to adjust to my bigger ribcage that just never went back down to the 32 measurement.  The lingering carpel tunnel has sucked, but a cortisone shot every few months helps.

First problem:  Hip pain.

My hips hurt.  They ache, all the way down into the bone & they feel overstretched & sore & nothing seems to help.  I’ve tried stretching & yoga & having Doug rub them, but all I do is yelp in pain the moment his hands hit that weird spot between butt & back.  I’ve tried to not carry Harrison as often.  I started wearing flats more than heels.  I gave up running.  Mostly, they hurt after I clean the house, which seemed weird at first, but cleaning the house requires a lot of lifting & squatting & reaching, not to mention occasionaly holding a baby while I vacuum.  Pretty please, oh wise internets that hold internet M.D.’s given by the School of Web MD, diagnose me.  Should I see a chiropractor?  Should I invest in bionic hips?

Problem Dos:  I gots me some stanky feet.

No, really.  Last night, Doug told me that my feet smelled like Satan’s breath.  (okay, he just said they smelled bad & I elaborated.)  Sure enough, I’m sitting here & I can SMELL MY FEET even though they are in shoes under the desk.  I bathed this morning, people, & sprayed my shoes with the smell-good stuff I picked up at Target last night.  God forbid I’m wearing my Born Mary Janes in the car with you, because we’ll just have to roll down the windows even though it’s 15 degrees outside.  I should get Botox injections into my feet, right?  I hear that helps for smelly pits, which thankfully, I do not have.

I cannot be alone in this.  Tell me you have stinky feet & aching hips, too.

Stigma. Supermom. Shame. Struggle. Shattered. (You are worth more.)

From the National Institute of Mental Health:

  • One in four women will experience severe depression at some point in life.
  • Depression affects twice as many women as men, regardless of racial and ethnic background or income.
  • Depression is the number one cause of disability in women.

Only one fifth of women who suffer from depression seek treatment.  One fifth of one in four, which means that in a room of sixty women, fifteen suffer depression but only three are getting help.

shatteredglass 300x199 Stigma.  Supermom.  Shame.  Struggle.  Shattered.  (You are worth more.)Translation?  Women are suffering, hurting, bruised to the core…& not seeking help.

What is it about us as women that makes us vulnerable to depression, & then paralyzed to receive help?

Through our determination to be seen as strong, rather than the weaker sex, do we not recognize the symptoms?  Do we push aside the exhaustion & irritability as “being a woman,” not understanding that they are signs of imbalance, just as much as tears?  Or maybe that guttural instinct to “buck up” as a mother & push through, despite the nagging anxieties & cloying despair.

In the era of the supermom, we feel pressure to be an odd mixture of a June Cleaver housewife & a Martha Stewart business mogul — are we afraid to verbalize that we cannot do it all?  Is there shame in that feeling that maybe, somehow, someway, we failed womanhood?

Or the shame that buries deep in our soul when the depression pulls us away from children & spouses & the focus of our life, but we fight a losing battle against it & we are too afraid to say, “I am sorry, but my heart is not here.”  We are told that women should not feel this way.

Or perhaps the shame of the neighbor’s wagging tongue that has already weighed the label on our sweater, the car in our driveway, the organic qualities of our dinner, & the manners of our children.  Dare we expose one more Achilles Heel to the harshest judges?

Is it the rising cost of healthcare in this downtrodden economy where some of us struggle to keep shoes on small feet & food in mouths?  Perhaps it is a failure of the medical field to screen properly & then offer options.  Or even the lack of options (did you know there is only ONE inpatient postpartum mood disorder clinic in the country?!).  Is it because it is one more task on our growing lists, where small children cannot tag along?

No matter the cause, I boldly say this —   Women, you are worth it.

If you are hurting & suffering & scared, please know that you deserve to feel better.  It is not weakness that asks for help – instead, there is courage in the acceptance.

photo credit
Stealing is for losers. Copyright 2008-2012 Beth Anne Ballance