You Know what's fun?

The weight gaining roller coaster.

^^Before I begin, let me preface this post by saying that I am not in any way bragging about my weight loss after children. I have NO idea how I happened to lose the weight. Truth of the matter is, I'm always questioning myself if I have some horrible underlying disease that I don't know about.^^

When I have kids I go full force, head first into pregnancy, and into total glutton mode. In my pregnancies I basically live by the philosophy of "if it crosses my vision, I eat it".

                                                                    Which made this...

Turn into this...

I'll let that sink in for a moment.

I gained 80 pounds in my pregnancy with Theo. 80 POUNDS! My one donut a day diet really bulked me up. I weighed more than my husband, heck I could have squashed him to death in his sleep had I rolled over on top of him. 

But the weight wasn't the problem. Honestly, there is nothing wrong with gaining weight pregnant or not. 

The problem, during my pregnancies and after, even now that I am back to my normal size is dressing appropriately for my body. And let me tell you, I was CLUELESS when it came to flattering fashion choices. When you come back from the hospital, you still look pregnant from the waist down. If you're breastfeeding, then you look like a tricked out balloon tree from the top up. Everything else is saggy, baggy and full of cellulite and deflated stretch marks. 

Sounds sexy huh?

Clearly my spagetti strap, low cut, short and tight fashion choices of the B.K. era (before kids) looked slightly inappropriate for a mom who spends 98% of her time bending over to be at kids height. 

What made me realize that I needed to change my style  was at a family function, after I had gotten back to my pre-pregnancy weight, I saw myself in a mirror bending over in my jean shorts and tank top AT THE EXACT TIME A PICTURE WAS BEING TAKEN FROM THE FRONT. Talk about a double whammy., from the front it looked like two flapjacks were trying to escape from my too low tank top (national geographic style) And from the back. OH from the back I looked like two hams were eating my jean shorts. Class-ey. Nothing says cheeeeeese like cottage style poking our from every crevice. Gross. 

I'm sure the website People of Wal-Mart have probably hijacked said picture by now.  

And this was AFTER my efforts to lose the weight (I use the word efforts meaning eating junk and breastfeeding). Why didn't my body snap into the hot little shape that I didn't know I had? And why didn't I spend more time naked when I was skinny?


Sort of. 

I was peeved. No one, not even "What to expect the first year" lead me to believe  that I wouldn't get "my" body back. This new foreign body, although the same size generally had been stretched, worn, pulled, tugged and deflated. 

I was depressed. I hid myself from windows, doors and all forms of social media. Simply because I had learned the hard way... skinny does not equal fit. Heck in my case, skinny didn't even equal healthy. My stupid self, believed that regardless of housing two humans in three years, then birthing them out as only miracles can, that nothing about my physical self would change. I was wrong. DEAD WRONG. I blamed Hollywood for my unrealistic expectations. I blamed the media. I blamed the guy down the street. I pretty much blamed everyone, except for the person I should have been blaming all along, MYSELF. 

I had made unhealthy decisions, so now I had to fix them. And I'm still working on that.

And as for my wardrobe, I'm still working on that too. My goal is to dress in a way that I don't look like a star dancer in a rap video every time I bend over at the park. Tight isn't always right. Low has got to go. That's my new motto, put that on a T-shirt Snooki.

Regardless I still believe that a donut a day is totally worth the Miu Miu that I'll have to wear later to cover my thighs. And ALL of it, I mean ALL of it was totally worth the perfect little humans that stretched me out like a used leather bag. I mean it's kinda cool to be a shape shifter. Not in a hot, sexy ware-wolf kind of way, but more like in a gain a crap ton of weight and become unrecognizable and then somehow mysteriously return to a older, stretchier version of yourself kind of way. You know,  Magical

Because being a mom is awesome. And modest fashion is totally the Bees Knees right now.

 Lucky for me and my shape shifting body.

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