Well, this is my second week of being medicated (with actual prescription drugs rather than Mars bars and Folgers Bistro Blend). I feel like poo warmed over. Which is really nasty when you think about it.
I'm so sleepy I can't stand it yet when bedtime comes I'm wide awake watching DVR'd episodes of Dog the Bounty Hunter and Billy the Exterminator.
In between bouts of vomiting from my temperamental gallbladder, that is.
My baby girl weaned herself this week so I made my husband take me to get new bras yesterday. I went down a whole cup size, but my boobs are so deflated these days that I don't really notice. From DDD to DD. I guess I know where the 5 pounds I lost went. Now instead of some milk filling in the voids of the fleshy pouches otherwise known as my boobs they're filled with air. Or nothing rather. They just hang there until I fold them up neatly and nestle them in my new bra.
Which brings up the next item. Yesterday I was trying on shorts at Lane Bryant (Hey! Let's put these fat lady clothes on the mannequins but pin them in the back so they look normal! We don't want the women shopping here to get a complex!) and I could have worn a 20 if it hadn't been for my stupid lower stomach.
Instead of just a little pooch or whatever I've got a full-blown fanny pack, made of flesh, permanently attached. When the hell did I become a marsupial? Forget Babyhawk, maybe I can just slice it on open and place my baby in the pouch. If it were 1992 and said fanny pack were, say, day glo orange or pink and I had a flew slap-bracelets on hand then maybe I'd be okay.
Until then I am contemplating:
A) cutting off the flab with my fancy Santoku knife and then giving myself an impromptu boob job by stuffing the flab inside my deflated boobs
B) performing liposuction on myself with vodka anesthetic and a ShopVac
C) contacting the creator of Spanx and asking her if there is any possibility of a permanent pair of Spanx that will adhere itself to your flesh, preferably in bodysuit form, and to please hurry up because I'm totally dying over here
D) becoming a full-time hermit
On the plus side, in case of national emergency I can most likely store water like a camel.
I'm kind of somewhat interested in Option B. Particularly because of the vodka. Not so much because of the ShopVac. Actually, I think the vodka would make you totally forget about the ShopVac all together. Oh, and I totally get the lower stomach thing. I had a c-section and apparently they didn't feel like cleaning up because they must've just shoved a bunch of crap inside my gut and sewed it up. People are still complimenting me on my pregnancy.... even though I'm not. And my baby is 16 months old. I heard there were these things called sit-ups but, let's be honest, it takes all my concentration to sit up while drinking the vodka. :) Looking forward to reading more from you!!
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