Few Things Feel As Good As Not Having To Cram My Fat Rolls Into A Pair Of Jeans
It's happened, guys, I've reached my pre-pregnancy weight and then some. It took 4 months but this bish did it and I'm pretty stoked. It's not like I actually did any work to lose the weight, let's be real. I just fed my baby any time he demanded itand he sucked all the weight off, easy peasy. Thanks, buddy! It's not all sunshine and rainbows though. In the aftermath of baby number three my body is all, Hey girl!!! I hope you like loose skin that resembles a stomach butt and a weird brown discoloration in your belly button 'cause that's the shit you're going to be rocking for a bit. Sorry! And I'm like, Thanks for nothing, you piece of turd. And seriously, what's with that color thing anyway?
Despite the weight loss I've been living in leggings and jeggings, which are just a sturdier pair of leggings that aren't as comfortable but still give a much better range of motion than jeans when I'm trying to squat down to grab that tortilla chip I dropped on the ground. Now, you're probably thinking I mean I'm wearing these things about 80% of the time. No. I wasn't exaggerating, I am legitimately living in them. I wake up in leggings and go to sleep in them. Okay, I guess I am lying slightly. I ALSO wear sweatpants, which are the poor mans legging, because FUCK JEANS! Jeans are awful and I hate them and they make me sad when I try them on. I foolishly thought putting on a pair when I was like a month post having a baby fall out of me was a smart idea. I ended up getting them just past my knee caps and then spent the rest of the afternoon in the corner, fetal, and praying to a god I don't even believe in to just end it all because there was no way I was going to be able to go on. A tad dramatic maybe, but you don't know my life. Also, hormones.
The other day I thought maybe I would revisit those jeans because apparently I hate myself. I went in with zero expectations that they would fit and was pleasantly surprised when they did. However, they still weren't as comfortable as the buttery soft leggings that are billowing out of my pants drawer. When you've been living your life in the smooth comfort of high-waisted (so as to suck all the rolls in) leggings from Walmart (I fucking hate this store but CHEAP LEGGINGS!) the feel of jeans on the skin is just oppressive and anxiety-inducing. Sure, they looked dope (can I pull that word off? Probably not.) but at what cost?! Maybe I'll just make jeans my formal wear from now on. You know, for when I actually get to go on some sort of date with my husband, which probably won't happen until my youngest can converse because he is literally the most needy baby I have ever encountered. What can I say? He loves his mama and thinks the world is ending when I am out of his sight for more than .3 nanoseconds.
I've given up on trying to be trendy and cute with things like jeans and shirts that don't have spit up and drools marks on them and fashion sweaters. Yes I wrote fashion sweaters. There's no reason for it. I live in the sticks again and don't see anyone I need to impress. My family are about the only ones I see on the daily and they already know I'm past the point of giving a shit. I roll out of bed totally zombified each morning and stumble to the coffee maker with my eyes half crusted over with remnants of the sandman, or possibly baby vomit, it's hard to say, and make my coffee the strongest brew allowed by law. Then I take a sip and hastily put it to the side because the baby needs me or my daughter needs her 4th breakfast of the morning. By the time I get back to my coffee it's cold and I'm already awake because of the sheer force of will it takes to NOT scream at my middle child for patting her brother on the head just a tad too hard AGAIN. So I'll just say fuck the coffee and walk downstairs into by bedroom cave and take off the leggings I wore to bed and switch them out for today's jeggings, you know, to fancy it up, and start my day, which will no doubt consist of countless baby feedings, refereeing my girls so they don't literally kill each other, all while trying to find time to breathe and be the incredible goddess that I am. Who needs fancy jeans when I am just BURSTING with inner beauty?