Jen and I were buddies back in high school – both cheerleaders, both into watching the funny parts in movies over and over until we couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard, both determined to get away from our small town (she made it). So when she asked to guest blog, I was so excited because in a way, it’s like I’m guest blogging for myself, that makes no sense but Jen is so much like me with her sense of humor that I knew whatever she wrote would be hilarious and make everyone nod along with, “Yep, I so remember that!” And she did. Please leave her some comment love as she refuses to start her own blog (fear of addiction, I commend her because I simply give in to the calling of blogging). Maybe if there’s enough comments she’ll change her mind.
Diana and I were good friends back in high school, and I just recently got back in touch with her through Facebook. The power of the web. I begged her to let me guest blog for her, and practically gave up my first born. I was super excited when she said yes; I hope I bring justice to her amazing blog.
The hubs and I were married for about 20 seconds when I started talking about having a baby. Or babies. He was not so thrilled. So, after 3 years of wearing him down, 1 and a half years of (timed and scheduled) trying on our own, and 3 rounds of fertility treatments, we were expecting our first baby. I was so thrilled and excited, that at 6 weeks pregnant, I marched into Motherhood Maternity like I owned the joint. I had earned the right to be amongst the baby-bump elite. Three pairs of maternity jeans and two maternity shirts later, I walked out of the store holding my shopping bag proudly. And that’s why at 12 weeks, I convinced myself it was now socially acceptable to wear my maternity jeans, even though I didn’t have anything resembling a pregnant belly.
Oh…my…God. They felt amazing. I loved how comfortable they were, and man were they convenient when I was making a mad dash to the bathroom every 15 seconds. All throughout my pregnancy, everyone told me that I was “all belly” and I enthusiastically shoved it out as much as I could so no one could miss the fact that I was indeed expecting. Okay, flash forward to 2 days after my precious little boy was born, and we were on our way home from the hospital. I went to put on my wonderful creation of fabric (maternity jeans) and they wouldn’t fit. What the heck?? Turns out, my “all belly” pregnancy became the all hip, thighs and back fat post-partum. I made it my personal mission on earth that I WOULD fit into those jeans again. Yes, I really was more interested in fitting into my maternity jeans, than I was my pre-pregnancy jeans.
Six weeks later, mission accomplished, and nothing could get me out of them. Nothing. Not even when I was 3 months post-partum, and my ever so kind husband asked me, “Why are you still wearing those things??” I really didn’t have an answer. I was just too embarrassed to admit that I would never fit into my pre-pregnancy pants, and I didn’t have the self esteem to buy pants in my new size. However, at 4 months post-partum, I finally said a tearful goodbye to my old friends, and put them in the back of my closet. I put on normal pants again, and felt like a new woman. I no longer felt like frump mom, and I started to have more confidence in what I looked like.
Then I went and got knocked up again when my son was only 9 months old. I swore to myself that I would not wear maternity jeans until I absolutely had to. It was like offering chocolate cake to someone on a diet, and I didn’t think I had the will-power to overcome the strange pull the jeans had on me. So, at 24 weeks, I admitted defeat, and dug out the old jeans from the back of the closet. And guess what?? They didn’t fit. Again. Talk about feeling unworthy. So I had to go to the store and buy more maternity jeans, in the next size up. And the old feelings of love came back with a vengeance.
Once again, when my daughter was almost 4 months old, I finally found the nerve to go buy pants in my size. It was sad, because I was now 3 sizes up from my original, pre-baby size, and my hip, thighs and back fat were there to stay. Frump mom was back, and she had taken over my life.
One thing I always hated was when moms would say they still had baby weight when their kids were like 5 years old. It’s no longer baby weight at that point, but I finally understood. My kids will be 40 years old, and I’ll still blame all of my weight problems on the “baby weight.” Well, my daughter is 15 months old now, and I am only 1 size up from my original pre-baby size jeans. I may never fit into those jeans again, but at least I’m not sporting maternity jeans every day. Until the next baby J