My metabolism is slowing down and I can feel it. I feel like it is taking longer this time around to get back to pre-pregnancy weight. Yes, it’s my third wee one and yes, I’m hitting my thirties so I understand why… but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I have taken for granted the easy recovery from my other two children. This time around I might actually have to do something about it… like diet and exercise. Drats.
I don’t have much to wear these days. I feel so super wide up in the top area that my buttoned shirts look like they’ll pop. My pants wont fit around my muffin top. So I went to the mall in hopes of finding some cheap fat pants to get me by until some of this baby fat melts away. I had assumed that I was only a size up from my normal size so I grab a whole bunch of pants and bermuda shorts from the clearance racks and headed to the dressing room.
I was soon totally devastated when the first pair of shorts I tried on were reminiscent of faux leather 80′s rocker pants the way they hugged my thunderous thighs. The next pair formed a wide V at the zipper and I didn’t even try to get the button closed. After the third pair wouldn’t even pull up over my thighs and tooshy, I gave up all together and walked straight out of the store and went home.
I figure I need to wait a bit more time before tying on any other pants and I couldn’t even bear the thought of going up another size. It would be a waist of money, right? I’m determined to be back to normal soon.
The state of mind that the experience put me in was utterly depressing. It made me think about banning all sugary sweets and chicken nuggets from the house and waking up at the crack of dawn for a jog. While I was mulled over these ideas, I helped myself to a massive bowl of ice cream. Delish!
















