WWII On My Person: Battle of the Bulge

This is for all the mothers that don't opt for the pregorexic post-partum regime and also not intended for those whose baby bump conveniently snaps back into place like a rubberband after delivery as though it never existed.

At long last, and I mean looooooong last, I have finally reached the ballpark of my pre-baby weight. I use the term "ballpark" loosely, referring mostly to the standard range of +/- four dress sizes I meandered through during most of my young adult life. I'm finally starting to creep down from the upper part of the scale of ye olde weight range, but as a mommy, this has no relevance. None whatsoever.

I recently discovered I am the physical essence of Mrs. Potato Head: one round blob stacked on top of a bigger lump with dispraportionately smaller arms and legs. I made this discovery after I'd convinced myself that the time for trying on the pre-baby clothes had arrived. I spent the better part of an hour rifling thru my cute, professional work/dressy attire that I'd left in boxes in the garage on the off chance I'd finally achieve pre-baby weight during this decade. No need to take up space in the house and remind me daily that I haven't worn my "sexy, single" attire for the last 4 years, right?

Anxiously, I started trying on the clothes -right there in the garage (door shut, of course), and picked a modest selection of shirts, skirts and trousers I wore at a weight heavier than I am right now. I stood there, tugging and pulling, hoping to find that they'd fit loosely and I'd quickly need to down-grade to the next selection of my adorable clothes in the next smaller size -until I couldn't zip a mid-section zipper on the cutest top I've ever purchased to date.

What the deuce?

I know I weigh less now than I did when I wore that top last, but sweat started to bead as I tugged the two sides close enough together to finally zip it up an inch before I required surgical clamps to hold them in place so I could finish the job. Uh, where the heck did my physique go?

And the pants?! Seriously? I have to keep pulling them up every time I get up from a seated position so the muffin top that plops out when I sit down will merge with the bottom half of my mommy pooch instead of becoming a roll beneath my still ostentatious mommy boobs. And on the offchance I forget to yank up the sides of the waist to accomodate said muffin top, my pants immediately start to fall off of me, exposing my granny panties that do their darndest to hold me in because my patootie's gotten smaller, my legs as well -thank Heavens, but they do no good standing beneath a limiting mid-section. I've also considered flaunting the gams 'til the cows come home, but they've barely seen the light of day since donning maternity clothes 4 years ago.

The brutal truth: I still have yet to migrate fully to non-maternity attire. I'm actually saving that as my new year's resolution for 2010 since my 2009 garage/dressing room adventure evolved into a bit of a bust. Sweats are practically a work uniform when you're out of work and at home chasing a munchkin all day.

Sigh...I guess I've got even more work to do still. I keep thinking, well, if I only got some muscle tone. Unfortunately, the volume of leftover pregnancy skin that makes my lower tummy look like the jowls of a dog goes nowhere except smoothed and tucked down into my pants along with the pant pockets after zipping up a fresh pair from the dryer.

Wretched mommy tummy. Maybe that explains why my self-esteem takes a nose dive when Pumpkin's giving me another round of the terrible 3's -because I see the difficulty my stretch marks have brought upon me. I must chalk this up to yet another part of motherhood to "just get through." Maybe that's also why women over 40 are more likely to die of a terrorist attack than get remarried; I blame the loose skin that we earned as a scar of war -err, sign of motherhood.