Before I popped The Cool Cucumber out, I had heard many warnings that losing the weight after a second baby was hard. I want to track all those bitches that said that down and punch them right in the vagina. It is not hard, it is impossible. Plus, the sagging skin and stretch marks are about a million times worse after #2. (Shut it, Alessandra. I swear to god I will drive to your house and slap you right in the face with a bottle of fat free salad dressing if you say how easy it was for you. You know how I feel about you and your friends.)
Anyway. The bitch of it is? I worked out more, ate better and gained less weight in my second pregnancy. And here I am, 9 months later, fatter than I was RIGHT AFTER I gave birth. Excellent. Thank god for jeans with space-age stretchy shit in them. I finally bit the bullet and bought some in size Fat Ass, so now I can actually button them and breathe at the same time. Bonus. Suck.
I am a realist. I understand that my body will never fit into single digit sizes. Ever. Seriously, ever. I don't strive to weigh 120 pounds. Or 130. Or, hell, even 140. That isn't healthy for me. I have child-bearing hips. They have served me well, as evidenced by my immaculate deliveries (see parts 1, 2, 3 and 4).
I think Lady Gaga is on to something. I may not have been born this way, but I sure as shit earned every pound and stretch mark I have gained along the way. Let's start the Mommy Body Revolution. One where we can have a second slice of pizza and bottle of wine without feeling dirty and comparing ourselves to our thinner mommy friends, or, worse yet, our thinner non-mommy friends.
I want pizza, wine and brownies. Suck it, salad. You too, Alessandra.