What they don’t tell you before you get knocked up…

I think I may suffer from elevated self image.

Let me explain…

I have an image in mind of what I look like & let me tell you (and I mean this humbly), I’m smokin’ – Charlize should be asking me who does my colours.

Then I pass a mirror.

That pregnancy glow is long gone as is the “I just gave birth I am She-Ra Princess of Power” kind of confidence. A tired, ragged, fatter version of myself has settled in.

Have I mentioned that my new favourite thing is Rum & Coke slurpies? And that I’ve made Kettle Corn about 5 times in about 9 days? Chocolate anyone? And for the first time in my life, I am eating my own baking (cardinal rule of The Baking Club – always have a tester, never, ever, sample your own work). I’m making a birthday cake for a friend this weekend. God, grant me the serenity!

So, the obvious plan should be to begin a workout routine of some sort. Not my strong suit…actually not my suit at all. In fact, if life were the prom & the suit I wore to the prom reflected my workout regime, I would show up looking like Herb Tarlek.

What is really sucking ass at the moment is that I don’t even have the good boobs that go along with post pregnancy. I am not able to breastfeed, so no big jugs for me…or Music Man (good thing he’s an ass man – something I have ample of). So, I’m stuck being an eleven year old boy on top & Bruce Vilanch on the bottom.

At the end of my pregnancy all I wanted was to see my toes again – I can see them. They’re what’s on the other side of the deflated whoopy cushion once known as my stomach – not that the area was my best to begin with, but let’s face it, no one wants to see a cute pedicure on the other side of jowels.

The up side is that I am wearing my pre-pregnancy jeans. They fit like a dream right after giving birth 5 weeks ago. That may have been my downfall. I got cocky and have been eating my face off. My skinny jeans mock me from our closet. I tried them on over the weekend.

Stupid girl.

I am this clueless.

Let’s just hang on & pray that post-partum doesn’t hit until one of these issues is resolved, or I’m drunker.

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One thought on “What they don’t tell you before you get knocked up…

  1. Chicky you seriously crack me up! Don't feel bad, you're not the only one who is way hotter in their head than reality. Shit, I am FIERCE in my head. In reality however, eh not so much.

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