Shapewear. Ughh. I've succumbed to the ravages.
First up, here is an interesting link: Chuck Norris Jokes
Right, now all the lads are gone, let's crack on, shall we? After Peanut, my body bounced back. It might have been all the exercise. (She was too small to complain when I stuffed her in a stroller for hours at a time. Things have changed.) It might have been the smaller meals. (Mr A was away for 8 months, so I ate like a girl.) Or it might have been that after one child, your body still recalls what it used to look like. Whatever the reason, I rejoiced.
This time? Not so much. There was no bounce. More like a weighty flop. And after almost two years of looking at my abs beseechingly (for my abs beseechingly, more like) I've finally realised that, until a minor miracle occurs and my diet and exercise become supportive of my midsection, nothing is going to change.
Which of course, while true, is absolutely no help to me now. I have parties to attend, dammit! Frocks to rock!
So I purchased what Mr Accident kindly calls Vanity Pants. I justified it by finding a 1940s quote on the net, something along the lines of "If you find yourself needing supportive undergarments, then for the sake of humanity, just go and bloody buy some!" I may be paraphrasing.
Shimmying into the underwear shop took some bravery. I'm not a fancy-knicker-buyer at the best of times, and these were not the best times. I found the shapewear section by aiming for the large wall of beige. From the descriptions on the labels, those pants could do anything. Whittle this, lift that... I was starting to think I was buying a handy western cowboy. Perhaps he could whittle me a saddle to sit atop my waistly saddle bags.
I figured the "light control" pants wouldn't cut it, and steered straight to the industrial strength. And I bypassed the little underpant shaped ones, honing in on a set that run bum to boob. In beige. With seams. SO sexy. I was hoping that, by having the end of the pants as far away from the fat as possible, the chub would just even itself out and I would avoid spillage.
No such luck. Somehow (in a way that totally defies my understanding) the roll of blubber from my tummy migrates to two small pouches under my arms. It's warm. It's soft. It's in the wrong place. It's confusing! But, it's still an improvement.
I'm sold. My jeans look better, my fancy frocks skim instead of stick, and my only regret is I didn't buy another pair.
So, you lot. Do you wear shapewear? Do let me know, so we can admire our under-arm bulges together...