Before I had my baby, I assumed I’d leave the hospital in pearls and a size 6 little black dress a la Jackie O. No one told me I’d be sporting my maternity garb for MONTHS. No one told me that I’d still look 4 months pregnant 4 months postpartum.
But I rolled with it (no pun intended) because I knew I’d be fit and trim again in no time. I set a goal to be “back” for my friend’s wedding in October—6 months postpartum.
Well, fall came, the leaves changed green to red, and I was still packing my preggy pounds. I dropped in at the Fall Faire at my old high school and my old bio teacher came up to congratulate me on the baby. “One here and one on the way, I see!” he said. I was mortified. Of course the guy I’d crushed on all through high school was standing within earshot. “Nope,” I said. “Just the one. I’m still fat from having her.” That shut him up.
Thanksgiving arrived and I hadn’t lost hope. “I’ll look great for New Years!” I kept telling myself as I stuffed pumpkin pie down my throat. They say “Nine months on, nine months off,” right? RIGHT????
Nine months, my ass.
I decided to give it a year.
When my daughter turned one, I was still packing 24 preggy pounds. And I decided to say screw it. Embrace it. It was just the new me. Along with saggy boobs, bags the size of fists under my eyes and absolutely no desire to ever have sex again. This was the new and (un)improved “Deva” – mommy-style.
But I’m not one to wallow, so rather than mope around waiting for those last pounds to melt away; I decided to take action! No, I didn’t join a gym. I went to the mall and bought a bunch of yoga pants two sizes up. If I was going to be bigger, I was going to be bigger and comfortable.