You can only use the excuse, "I just had a baby," for so long. I'm going to try and milk it until Quinn graduates high school, but I'm guessing no one will buy it. I had two very important, very embarrassing wake-up calls in the past months regarding my butt and its ample girth.
The first followed an epiphany I had one evening, upon glancing at my face in the mirror. I was stuffing a piece of sauce soaked bread into it's hole at the time. It hearkened me back to the days before Evan. The (taco) Salad days, when I drank too much, ate too much and avoided mirrors in order to maintain absolute denial regarding my bloat and how rampant it was becoming. I had sauce on my over sized sweatshirt, on my chin and chipmunk cheeks loaded with carbs and butter. I made a vow to lose 15lbs by April and joined MG's (what used to be Mike's Gym, now franchised.) The following night after Chris got home and the kids were settled, I dusted off the two sizes, too small workout gear and headed out, sucked in and ready to sweat. A note to anyone in my predicament. If your sports bra is two sizes too small, even though the girls feel tucked and tight, they aren't. That being said, I started the night on the treadmill and ended the night, less than 30 minutes later, on the treadmill. The event played out like this. I step on the treadmill, I'm feeling good. I start running and sweating, and I'm still feeling good. I catch two younger gentleman across the way "checking me out", I'm feeling really good. I watch their eyes crinkle and thier brows furrow, first in confusion, then in disgust. I feel a gentle patting against my overly rotund belly, along with a quietly tapping, tribal rhythm. I'm afraid to look down, but need to confirm what I already know. And there, for all to see, is my floppy, engorged, boob, dangling near my navel and "the turkey's done", if you know what I mean. Thankfully it was under my shirt, but again, because my outfit was two sizes to small, every roll, hole and mole was visible; and before you question why I would wear clothes like that out of the house, I will tell you I thought they were tight enough to keep all of my hanging parts in one cohesive unit. Also, it was that or pajamas, because I'm far too cheap to buy new clothes when I have perfectly good, perfectly small ones sitting in my bureau. I was mortified, as you can imagine and did what any perfectly rational, almost middle-aged woman, who "just had a baby" (6 months ago) would do. I quit the gym.
The second wake-up call happened during a play date with my son and my friends, so the embarrassment factor was at a 99.5, as opposed to the previous scenario's 100+ rating. Because I "just had a baby", everything I own pre-pregnancy is the afore mentioned, two sizes too small. With the incident at the gym behind me, yet always present, I went out and bought jeans in the larger size, finally being realistic in the notion of anything fitting me, anytime soon. I was rockin' the muffin top, but I stretched them and did the deep,knee bends and with a long enough tunic, the dough that's covering my mid-section was out of sight and out of mind. At the time of the incident, said jeans were pretty much brand new. They hadn't nearly seen enough action to be retired. I was on the floor with Quinn, reaching across for a toy when the Levi's broke. I felt the gentle breeze and thanked Jesus I had decided to wear underwear and not the thong I had originally picked out. My friends and I quickly put together a list of theories as to why new denim had suddenly surrendered to my ass. I play hard. I'm constantly on the floor with the kids and that puts wear and tear in the seat. I used bleach, which weakens the fibers. In the end, my friend threw her hands in the air and said, "For Christ's sake you just had a baby. What do you expect?"
In the aftermath of what I will refer to as FlabGate, I have done a complete sugar exorcism to my cabinets. As the east coast warms, I will be out on the streets in your neighborhood, running...when the seismic waves occur there will, hopefully, be no mass panicking. I'm going to try to engage Carmen Electra, as she shows me how to lunge, squat and jump my way back into my old clothes. I don't know what to expect, but I know what everyone without vision impairment should expect. My ass in leggings. Avert your eyes accordingly.
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