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When I was pregnant, I was convinced that just a few months after the babies were born, I'd be back to my fighting weight, all trim and toned and better than ever. So what if I might never have time to work out -- just carrying them would turn my flabby ham hock arms into lean, mean, Michelle Obama-style machines, duh. And, I'd be so busy with the twins that I'd barely eat, right? And I guess that I'd also decided that once I was a hot, skinny MILF (forget that I've never ever been skinny), I'd buy a whole new wardrobe with all of the extra cash I would have after caring, feeding and diapering two babies.
Now, for some strange reason, none of this actually happened -- I still have lots of baby weight to lose, sweats are my style staple, and I consistently seem to have mysterious orange stains on whatever raggedy T-shirt I'm wearing. So, yeah, I guess you could say that I've officially let myself go. No, I'm not proud of it, and yet, I just can't seem to make it stop.
All of you new Moms that still manage to go to the gym and blow-dry your hair and shave your legs, go right ahead and judge! I mean, really, how could I argue? What's so hard about washing my hair? Who told me to buy eight boxes of Girl Scout cookies? Can't I seem to find one T-shirt that doesn't have a hole in it? What about my poor husband who has to come home to Ida Schmutz-a-lot every night?
I can't even seem to get it right when I'm going out either. Sure, I'll do a smoky eye thing with my makeup, wear jeans without an elastic waistband, maybe even slip on some heels. I'll twirl my freshly-washed hair, smile coquettishly at my husband, fiddle with the dangly earrings I never get to wear. Then, I get home and realize that those skinny jeans I squeezed into have a hole in the inner thigh and that cleverly draped (read: forgiving) black top has a white milk stain on the shoulder. Damn you, motherhood -- foiled again!
I keep telling myself that I should go shopping, get myself some new garb, even if it's just a few new pairs of stretchy pants and some clean T-shirts. But, then I'd actually have to, like, get in the car, drive to a store, and squeeze my flabby tummy into double-digit jeans and tops -- uh, no thanks! I also probably need to accept that my feet are never going to shrink back down to pre-pregnancy size, and buy myself some shoes that actually fit. My flip-flops could definitely use the break.
Did I mention I haven't cut my hair in over a year? Yes, that's right, a year, probably more! Okay, to be fair, I'm actually donating it, but I reached the requisite 8-10 inches, like, six months ago. I look like Crystal Gale! Oh, see, right there? Even that reference dates me, so now I'm not only disheveled, but old and out-of-touch too. Waaaaaaaah.
In all seriousness, yes, I'm bummed out about how I look these days. I swear, I think I looked better when I was pregnant. But, at the same time, this belly flab is a reminder of the two healthy babies I carried in my tummy for nine months. That orange stain on my shirt is from lunchtime, when my 8-month-old son decided to blow raspberries at me through a mouthful of carrots, the three of us (including his twin) laughing the whole time. And if I can't seem to find time (or energy) to get out and shop, it's because I'm busy with two vibrant, funny, joyful babies who grow and change and learn and surprise me every minute of the day.
I'm not making excuses, especially because I know that many, many women are able to take care of their children and themselves. And I envy them, I totally do, and wish I was more like that. I know my current state of disarray isn't permanent, and when it's important enough to me, I will pull myself together. I'm taking care of my health and I definitely give myself breaks to get a pedicure or have lunch with a friend, but right now, my appearance doesn't seem to be a priority. I'll get there, I have no doubt. And in the meantime, I'm just grateful to have a loving and understanding husband.
Do you feel like you've lost your mojo since having a baby?
Image via Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com/Flickr
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