I had one of those days recently. Raines was on an all-morning whining spree ("But where's my blue car??? My bluuuuuueee car??? Bluuuuueeeee car! NO! NO! OTHER BLUE CAR!! NOT THAT BLUE CAR!! NEVER EVER THAT BLUUUUUUUEEEEEE CAAAAAARRRRRR") and Pax was inexplicably crying and I was tired and my legs and butt hurt.
They hurt. Not from working out, oooooh no....but from inactivity. My muscles were starting to atrophy. Despite my best efforts to figure out a way to get myself back to ballet class...it hasn't happened. In four years. And I don't have enough zen power to deal with two unhappy babes while I pop in a workout DVD. So I decided, right then and there, that it was time to run. I had been a cross-country runner in high school...but haven't run much since then. *snort* Almost 15 years ago.
"We are ALL going for a run!" I announced to my unhappy little men. "Get dressed!!!"
2 hours later, we were ready to leave. Barely. I was totally unable to find my running shoes (last time worn: 2 years ago) so I settled for a pair of cute sneaks. I was able to find my nursing sports bra, but my old running gear? Nothing fit. And my cute loungepants were all too long. So I ended up leaving the house in a baggy old pair of Adidas track pants (hemmed a touch too short), my sports bra and a white cotton v-neck tee. Having, by this point, LOST MY MIND, the tee I threw on was skintight and too sheer...thus showing off both my postpartum pooch and the dark line still present on said poochy belly. H-O-T.
But whatever. We were out the door, and I was going for a run. Once around the park and then home. Even if it killed us.
Except...the stroller had a flat tire. Not a tire that had a slow leak, but a completely flat tire. This is the same stroller I would need IN TWO DAYS when I flew solo, with both boys, to Florida.
Deep cleansing breath.
{And did I mention that the stroller was buried under a mountain of ski gear that I had to carry back up to our apartment in trips, both boys in tow? No? Well, I did. Cursing my husband the whole way. Cause carrying heavy stuff, I'm pretty sure, is a man job. Anywho.}
There really was no other option: we were going to have to get the tire fixed. Now. One last trip up to the apartment for the carseat, and we were off. An hour later, the tire was fixed.
It was now after 1PM. Determined to make something good out of this day, instead of going home for naps (like a sane person), I dragged the kiddos to the running store to purchase some actual running shoes. The salesman informed me that first, he needed to "check out my gait", which involved me jogging slowly around the store in my bare feet. With my too-short track pants flapping around my ankles. And my pooch bouncing. BOOM-BA-BA-BOOM with each step as my milk-filled boobs swayed from side-to-side. Again, H-O-T.
After the shoe purchase, R was starving, so we ended up at the nice Whole Foods in Cherry Creek, where most other customers (both the Jimmy Choo/Armani-clad business types and the moms in their $300 technical jackets) avoided eye contact with me. I wonder why? Sweaty, poochy, too-short crazy-pants lady with no makeup. Raines, realizing that he was this close to squirming his way out of a nap situation entirely, informed me that he wasn't ready to go home.
Staredown.
"Really?" I asked. "Cause there is one other place Mum could go.......but it won't be any fun for you. You'll have to sit still. And be quiet."
He agreed. We shook hands. And went straight to Lululemon.
They had toys. Toys!! They had nice salesgirls that didn't stare (for long) at my poochy stomach and crazy pants. They had other nice salesgirls that held Pax while I tried stuff on. And even more salesgirls that ran around the store pulling pants that were high enough to support my c-section scar and help control the pooch. Pants that didn't flap around my ankles when running (with free alterations to boot). And a tank that, thanks to a slight bubble hem, helped to hide the stomach pooch and back-fat. And cool shorts!! Short enough to make me feel young and sexy, but just long enough to hide the doughiest part of the thigh.
By the time we made it back, Mike had just returned from work. "Whoa" he said when I walked in, re-clad in crazy-pants and too-tight-tee. "Wow Babe. I've never seen you looking...ummmm...like that" he finished lamely.
Thankfully, never again. Or, as R would say: NEVER EVER.
Here's my happily ever after shot:
Wearing: Lululemon's Speed Short, and Get Focused tank. Also bought the super-flattering Pure Strength pant in gray.
Hey Lululemon!! If you are reading, we need more pooch-flattering tops! Cause none of us want to see that pooch bouncin' around (it's bad enough we have to feel it). Specifically, the very fabulous, pooch-hiding No Limit tank...hint hint.
xo,
S
ps. How funny that Lane and I are both trying to figure out how to work in a workout? Sheesh.
