T-Wrecks

I have yet to morph my post-baby body back into anything resembling my former physique. I venture outside for 80 minutes each day with the baby in her jogging stroller and the dogs on their leashes for a power walk, despite the cold-enough-to-freeze-the-brass-balls-off-a-monkey wind.

My wardrobe - hovering between the baggy too big things, the maternity things and the tight like a sausage things - is limited. Today I found myself choosing between bundling up in a maternity jacket or my teal Old Navy swing pea coat. I went with option B. It was bad enough that I was sporting maternity jeans. There was no way I could bring myself to opt for a baby-on-board jacket, especially without getting the neighbors talking. Again.

I had to deflate my lungs just to get the top buttoned over my neonatal ta tas. Ok, so breathing was out. Oxygen is so 2010 anyway.

The walk was uneventful, as they typically are. After all, it is my one escape from the house each day. The only 80 minutes I have to "myself" which is all mine (if you don't count cleaning up dog poo, obsessing whether the baby is dressed warm enough/cool enough, contemplating did Joani really love Chachi and why can't we extreme coupon in Canada like you can in the US).

After duty called for the dogs, I reached down to pick up the steaming pile but discovered the flaw in my choice of coat. Because my chest was so constricted, I couldn't move my arms out very far from my body. Like a tyrannosaurus. Except the tranny is trying to bag crap. So I really had to bend down. And that's when my maternity jeans slid south.

I'd like to say this story ends with me keeping my dignity. But let's be honest, after you've had a spotlight on your v-tunnel in a delivery room, dignity becomes extinct.

364 Days

Forgive me blogger for I have sinned. It has been 364 days since my last confession post.

My transgressions were many, and typically involved gluttony (hey I was eating for two). I have survived Paul going to Afghanistan. Almost giving birth to our daughter in the front seat of an SUV. Gaining weight, losing weight, gaining weight. Indulging in obsessive compulsive cleaning. Not showering for more than 24 hours. Feeling sorry for myself. And most of that's just from today!

I thought life was too busy for you blogger. And now my writing muscle has all but shrivelled up and died a painful death, like Lindsay Lohan's career. Even though I shunned you blogger, you were never very far away [because I like to keep my laptop close incase there's an important status update on Facebook].

But I'm ready to turn back to my writing ways blogger. With your help. And more coffee.

What can I do to atone for these sins? Say 7 Hail Mary's Drink 7 Bloody Mary's?

Done! Perhaps I should add consuming too much alcohol to my list of sins? Yeah, I was only kidding. There's nothing wrong with my sense of humor.

I'm back bitches!