Earlier this month I had to go to a funeral. One of my relatives had passed away, and being post pregnancy (huge), I had nothing to wear. This is when I realized that funerals suck for more than just one reason. Granted, It is hard to lose someone you care about, someone who has been an integral part of your life since you were teeny tiny. Everyone knows that is the hardest part, the worst part of having a death in the family. Ah, but there is more. Shame and humilliation and degradation are also involved. When you have to take your giant, post-baby, saggy skinned, bubble butt to the dressing room to find something dignified to wear, you realize immediately that nothing good can come of this.
So here I stood for the first time in over 8 months, staring at my hippoesque body in a full length mirror. The pre-pregnancy me was long gone. I must have gained about a million pounds. I know I have no one to blame but myself, because I constantly ate ice cream, cheetos and BBQ ribs. The woman looking back at me in the mirror was just a hot mess. My hair was all long and frizzy, split end city. I should never leave the house without makeup ever again because the hormone shift did crazy things to my skin. I've seen apartments smaller than some of the pores on my nose. My butt, oh it needed a zipcode all it's own. Somehow I missed out on the whole booby thing because those are still super tiny and really don't balance out the big giant hips I've managed to acquire. The big giant hips perched atop thighs that look like they have been hit with a bag of freaking nickels. I stared, for the very first time at the huge purple c-section scar across my belly. The giant scar that I couldn't avoid, but hadn't had to face until now. Needless to say I cried, right there in the dressing room, surrounded by the multifaceted reflection of myself.
I knew I hadn't taken the best care of my figure while I was pregnant. I never should have treated it like a license to eat, but I did. So I found myself a giant skirt with a stretchy elastic waist and a big giant sweater to help hide the fat rolls that made me feel like the Michelin man. I did my walk of shame to the register and paid for my giant clothes. My eyes still red and puffy from my little snot-fest in the dressing room.
Since funerals are one of the few times you usually get to see extended family, and since I had my Lil Guy in tow, I spent a lot of time playing hide and seek with anyone who might possibly try to take a picture of me/the baby. I want absolutely no photographic evidence that I have ended up looking like a giant albino walrus in a sweater.
I suppose I need to start trying to lose all this baby weight. I guess I need to swear off all the tasty food and get up off my lardy to exercize. I've always hated exercize, and I've always loved tasty food. This is really gonna suck.
Dr. Grumpy's Gift Guide
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