Song: I’m Sorry That I Got Fat by Wesley Willis
You always hear about how your body changes after you have a baby. It’s true. It just might not happen the way you expect.
What I’m about to discuss is kind of one of those non-problem problems. Non-problem problems include things like the following (please forgive me for plagiarizing myself a few times here):
- I once got a B+ in law school, but that’s totally okay because I got straight As every other semester!
- My trust fund check arrived a day late.
- I have so many awesome friends I simply cannot keep up with everyone!
- Most men I encounter want to have sex with me.
- I just can’t get along with other women because they are intimidated by my hotness.
- People always buy me free drinks because I’m so hot, but then I drink too much and feel hungover the next morning.
- I simply cannot wear all five engagement rings at the same time. Someone is going to be hurt every day.
- I just don’t know whether to spend the summer in France or on a whirlwind tour of somewhat obscure Asian countries.
- I’m on a budget, so I’ll have to buy the small Louis Vuitton bag and only half of my summer wardrobe will come from Anthropologie.
- I worry that it’s tacky to accept all the presents I’m about to receive.
- I cannot possibly respond to the thousands of emails I receive from my adoring fans who inundate me with questions, requests, and statements of true and undying love every day.
The very non-problemy part of my problem is the fact that I weigh 17 pounds less than I did when I got pregnant. That means I’m only three pounds away from my yay-woohoo-happy weight. This is awesome and a glowing testament to the power of running more and eating less.
It gets a little dicey when you account for the post-pregnancy body weirdness. The first problem is that I’m even more top-heavy than I used to be. And listen, I know “my boobs are so big” normally would qualify as a non-problem problem, but when you’re getting into triple-letter bra sizes, it’s not really a good thing unless you’re, like, Dolly Parton, and even then it’s questionable but at least you’re making a decent living.
If you have a decrease in weight and an increase in top-heaviness, it follows that you also have a decrease in, well, bottom-heaviness. Let’s be clear. I seriously have no ass whatsoever. I’ve never had hips or an ass, but now I have even less of an ass than I had before getting pregnant.
For practical purposes, this means I’ve been having a very hard time with pants. First, it was just that I lost weight so my pants were too big (total non-problem problem). So I bought a few new pairs of pants and had Ben dig around the attic to find my old boxes of “small pants,” which, for the record, I didn’t think I’d ever need again, oh happy surprise.
I’ve even been careful to incorporate into my wardrobe pants that are no-ass friendly. These include traditionally junior-oriented pants from places like American Eagle, Alloy (Does that still exist?), and Abercrombie (I know!) (as opposed to women-oriented pants from places like Ann Taylor, which make me look like a misguided MC Hammer wannabe). Old Navy used to work very well but now their pants seem to stretch and are an almost-guaranteed way for me to end up on America’s Funniest Home Videos (Does that still exist? I hope not.) when my pants fall down while I’m walking down the street with a cat on a scooter and 57 min pins, in totally a non-calculated way that just happened to be caught on tape.
The thing is that now, even traditionally junior-oriented pants designed for teenage girls are way too baggy in the ass and don’t stay up. I’m forever pulling up my pants, and it has to look ridiculous. Just the other day when I was dropping Soren off at school, I got out of the car, hiked my jacket up to my armpits, and gave my pants a good tug (you have to really get them up there when you’re about to carry a toddler across the parking lot and through the building), before realizing that a mom and kid were sitting in the SUV parked next to me and now they probably think I’m really, really creepy, because who does that.
Ben refers to the flat butt phenomenon as “Littleton ass,” Littleton being a suburb of Denver. So what he’s saying here is that I have mom butt. If you observe mom butt in its natural environment, you’ll notice that high-waisted pants make it look even more exceptionally flat.
This means that, unless I want to accentuate my flat-assedness, I can’t wear high-waisted pants. However, low-waisted pants fall off of me. I think the problem might be too much for a belt to help, because to hold my pants up, a belt would have to be tight enough to give me a nice muffin top, which isn’t an appealing option, either.
I fear that the only answer is for me to wear dresses or skirts all the time. Or suspenders.