Getting comfortable with my post pregnancy body is pretty tough. I know, I know, it's only been 4 months. I know I have a chance that some of this pot belly will reduce on its own still, but I'm pretty sure most of it is up to me. I'm watching the boobs deflate and trying not to take it personally. I'm looking at the gigantathighs and wondering how the heck I'm going to deal with that one. I'm basically feeling like I'm in the worst shape of my life.
Lets face it, I weigh more than I ever have pre pregnancy. And when the kids make me crazy? I eat. My drug of choice is any damned fatty, sugary or salty thing that is bad for me and I want it now and in large quantities.
I can NOT gain any more weight.
And should I decide to take walks in the 90 degree weather with my rickety old stroller and grumpy baby it's uphill straight off. Someone find me the motivation. Because just not looking in the mirror is working fine most days.
Except date night. Date night I have to pull on the Spanx, throw on what is most likely a maternity dress, look in the mirror while I put on my old make up and then go out in public and try to feel good at a nice restaurant with other nice looking people.
And do you wanna know what Spanx do for me? They make me look pregnant. Which would you choose? Fat pooch or fake pregnant belly? Because that lovely spandex that usually makes you suck in and smooth out? Just smooths out my pot belly. And a smooth belly? Looks pregnant.
I keep waiting for someone to ask me when I'm due. And I have no freaking idea what I'm going to say when that happens.
Sure it might help if I got some non-maternity dresses, but who has time to shop and do you really think that standing in a fitting room looking at myself naked is going to help me much?
Yeah, me either. Sigh.
So I trudge on. I keep thinking that soon I will have a recognizable schedule with this young child of mine and then I will work out, oh yes! Truth is I am so not a motivated worker out-er. And diets? They last until a kid stresses me out. Now if only I could convince my brain that a great method of stress relief would be to work out! Wouldn't that be fantastic? Or cleaning house. That would burn calories and clean my world. Why can't I be just the least bit obsessive about cleaning or working out?
Stupid thing to wish for but I'm watching that OCD project on tv right now. I guess I'd rather eat myself to death than become OCD. Small blessings.
Well, thanks for listening. It's another 4 days until another date night, so I shall live in blissful ignorance of the way I look until then.