As Crispi is about to leave (abandon) us, I’ve been trying like mad to run any errands or make any appointments this week. One such errand was a trip to Target. You’re riveted with interest, I know. I had several lists of stuff to get. One list was for Easter stuff for the kids. Don’t tell Felix he’s getting some new clothes in 3 month size since he’s outgrown his newborn threads. You’ll piss off the Easter Bunny. The other list was stuff for me. I figured with summer upon us, I would try to look for a bathing suit and I desperately needed a new black nursing bra since my other one literally popped apart the day before yesterday.
I started with my list. The bra was no problem. I found a couple, actually. They aren’t the nicest or best but as this will be my nursing farewell tour, I just need it to get me through nursing one baby vs. two.
The bathing suit was a total disaster. And sorry here to any of my FB friends for being redundant. After trying on 3, I posted on my wall something to the effect of: If I was a cool kid I’d tweet something like “trying on swimsuits less than 6 weeks postpartum #wtfwasithinking? But I’m not so I won’t.” It was horrible.
Those mirrors and lights in any fitting room are from the 7the level of hell. They would make Heidi Klum look like a hippopotamus, much less the average mortal woman. One of the suits I couldn’t even pull up the whole way. Talk about demoralizing. Then again, I must have been totally bonkers to think of bathing suits right now, anyway. I haven’t bought one since I was pregnant with Stella and ordered a maternity suit online. I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve worn that suit the past 3 years, whether with child or not. It looks like I’m wearing it for at least one more year. I’ll get more use out of this damn bathing suit than Michelle Duggar would!
It was a rotten experience. Sure, I just had my second kid in under 2.5 years. I should be kind to myself. But some of this extra weight was there to begin with and 2 kids later it’s only worse.
None of this was helped by extreme fatigue, arguing with my husband, and the knowledge that as of next week I’d have no help during the day. I wandered around Target in a depressed fog while I got the stuff for the kids.
I know there are TONS of moms out there who manage multiple children by themselves full time and do so cheerfully without cracking up. I do know I’m a bit high-strung and high-energy. I have a hard time letting things like housework go and the constant chatter from Stella makes me drunk by the end of the day and the screaming of Felix in the afternoons causes my blood pressure to jump 15 points. This just doesn’t suit me as a full-time gig. As hard a juggling little kids, a husband, a house, and full-time job is, I need that job. It’s my vacation.
As for the extra weight, trying to find time to exercise right now seems about as doable as Felix writing his dissertation tomorrow while learning to hold his head up. I see those inspirational posts on Pinterest about stretch marks being something like tiger stripes for moms and should be worn with pride. I’m sure some clever broad somewhere has come up with an equivalent for fat. I’ve yet to see it. I love my kids, but they’re not easy on a body.
Here’s hoping the Easter Bunny visits you all. And I hope he comes to my house with a whole lot of serenity and patience for me. If not, meds will work.