Never Let Them See My Jiggly Bits
You might be wondering why the hell I took a photo of myself in this state of undress, and in order to answer that question for you, I need to set the scene of my life. I am 32-years-old and single; I have a 21-month-old toddler, who was breech and 9 lbs. 6 oz. at delivery, which means that I had a c-section. Which means that my 6-pack is now a keg. And this past weekend, I had a wedding to attend. My oldest friend of 20 years was taking the leap and marrying the love of his life, and I was lucky enough to be invited to celebrate the occasion with them.
The only tiny snag was that I was invited without a date. Which prompted me to throw a nice little pity party for myself in my head. Okay – the pity party wasn’t so small.
Why did I have to be invited without a date to a wedding where EVERYONE I have ever known is going to be there with a date?….but then again, if I was invited with a date, I would have absolutely no one to bring – because I have not been out on a date in two years. Which might be worse than simply being invited without a date.
This anxiety was compounded by the fact that everyone I actually knew at the wedding was male, some of which I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade, and some of which I may have had a romantic involvement with at some point in my younger years - before my stomach was stretched out and, if left to its own devices, sitting in a puddle around my waist, and when my ass was still defying the laws of gravity.
A few days before the wedding, in full pity party mode, I tried on the very pretty, but very sheer yellow dress I planned to wear to the wedding.
Oh dear lord I need some major help. If I could simply wrap my jigglier bits in duct tape (which I have heard can fix ANYTHING), then we would be all set, because the only thing worse than showing up to a wedding alone, is showing up to a wedding alone looking like sh*t. My motto isn’t never let them see you cry, it’s never let them see you look fat.
These thoughts occurred of course, based on the assumption that anyone cared what I looked like, because not only was in depression mode about this, I was clearly in self-centered mode as well.
Anyway, I took matters into my own hands and ran to the store and looked for the most supportive undergarment I could find. I quickly ran around (because that is the only way I shop these days) touching all of the different brands of garments.
Nope, not tight enough. Nope, too much give. Nope, need more coverage.
And then Bingo! I came across the little number you see above.
As I was trying on the “Spanx Slim Cognito” I felt both feelings of hatred and love for their creator, Sarah Blakely. Hatred because I literally had to tuck my stomach into the item as I pulled it up, and love because I knew once tucked in, my backside and my stomach would not be going anywhere and my confidence would be restored enough to attend the event.
Once I wriggled my way into my Spanx I looked up at the person standing in front of me in the mirror and snapped this photo, sending it to my closest girlfriends (and one gay man) with a message that read: Just so you know, if you ever have a baby, and are single, and you are attending an event with men that you once had relations with – you will be wearing something like this under your dress.
File this one under: just one more thing I didn’t intentionally sign up for when I became a mom.