At nearly five months after delivery, and despite the last month of working out with diligent intensity, I have become downright perturbed at my current clothing situation. So, I stopped by Target on my way home from BabyEve's* appointment yesterday to purchase something for my lower half that neither needs to be hiked up every 45 seconds (maternity pants), nor gives the dreaded "muffin top" effect (pre-maternity pants). And was perplexed to learn that I am no longer part of the population that can wear those sexy jeans with the 1" long zipper, the hip, fun "low-rise" jean. No, those jeans are reserved for women who still have their original equipment, in its original condition, those who have not selflessly handed over their taught, lean bodies for the sake of their oblivious children.
I thought I was all cool after Poopies, I had escaped his pregnancy with nary a stretch mark, and I still looked pretty good all things considered. Well, somehow sweet BabyEve did a number on me and it's a pretty sad state of affairs I have to say. I hope once I slender down a bit more it will improve, but I'm not terribly optimistic. There seems to be extra....skin. Ugh. Anyway, it came down to either more "muffin top" or the 9" zipper, full-coverage, huge-assed-with-the-pockets-up-high "Mom" jean (which actually was pretty flattering waist-wise I'm sorry to say), and nothing in between. So I slunk out of there totally empty-handed. This pants thing is much more complicated than before.
*yes, we call her "Baby Eve," nearly all the time, I'm afraid. I don't know when it will stop, possibly after it gets shortened to "Baby" for simplicity's sake, and we all go to a mountain resort for the summer and she falls in love with a dance instructor and helps his friend get an abortion, thereby disappointing us but then proving her maturity and fearlessness in a sensational closing dance number where she finally nails that tricky lift.
Speaking of BabyEve, and despite the whole body-ruining thing (kidding!), she is totally awesome. Very gorgeous, extremely chatty and so, so sweet. It's amazing to see her little person emerge, to look into her eyes and know that we're on our way to a clumsy little toddler, and a hilarious preschooler. By Poopies-comparison, she's very fair with strawberry-blond hair, and still has her blue eyes, which I hope--more than I should--that she keeps. Beyond the fact that she's so pretty the way she is, I am strangely insecure that the Cap'n's fair family looks upon my brown hair and eyes as genetic mud, mucking up what would have been fair grandchildren. Which of course they probably don't, but they honestly could because it's frankly true! But enough of my chromosomal insecurities...
Poopies started preschool last month, and it's going pretty well I'd say. We learned early on that the Cap'n needed to do the drop-off, since me doing it meant a really bad scene with lots of tears and pants-grabbing. He seems to be getting along with the other kids, though I have yet to see him engaged in actual play with anyone other than the teachers, but I know this will come with time. It's not for lack of encouragement. Every day I ask him if he has any new friends, and every day I am told with authoritative inflection (including hand gestures) how "one boy got very, very angry" with him, which I was initially flabbergasted about, but since we get the same story every day and he doesn't seem very upset about it, I am left to conclude that either he really is getting some boy mad at him constantly and that it doesn't faze him in the least, or that on the day that the mad boy incident really happened he got a spectacular reaction from me, and so decided that he would repeat it every day to elicit extreme motherly concern. Part of me wants to roll my eyes and put on a knowing smile when he starts on the same story again, but on the other hand, I don't want appear blasé about being told about his day, and don't want to discourage him from recounting the day's events (real or otherwise) and so I've continued the impressed concern, and the motherly advice to stay away from angry boys. I am a sucker for manipulation, always have, always will.