BOOBS, BELLIES and BONDAGE

…An adventure in postnatal fashion…

Confession. I have broken the six weeks, no strenuous activity until your nether regions regain their composure, post pregnancy rule multiple times.

First, I watched the Tracy Andrews post pregnancy workout and then, unable to watch her cute, perky butt for a moment longer while my own rather rotund bottom sat on the couch, actually attempted to do the ab workout. May have been more painful than giving birth itself.

Second, strapped baby into wonderful hands free contraption for many walks because I could not watch one more hour of HGTV or Real Housewives of you name it.

Third, hauled every September issue fashion magazine back to apartment along with baby in aforementioned hands free contraption. Great bicep workout especially when one divides heft of glossies into two bags and swings arms like a speedwalk champion circa 1988 Kathy Smith workout video.

And finally, dusted off wii fit and amazed/horrified myself with the fact that I still remember all the step aerobics moves that I last put into practice when women actually wore thongs to the gym (on the OUTSIDE of their clothes mind you).

With this flurry of physical activity I am sad to report I am still carrying an extra thirty-five pounds. I may be mistaken, but I seem to remember the baby weight from my first pregnancy disappearing effortlessly. This time it looks like I’m going to actually have to work at it which terrifies me to no end. There have certainly been periods of my life where I’ve logged in endless hours at the gym. Endless. Obsessive. Hours. But frankly, I’m pretty lazy and the whole prospect of mandatory exercise and (shudder) diet makes me want to cry. Then again, the alternative, never fitting into my clothes again, makes me want to cry even harder. So, it is facing this sad realization and desperately hoping for an easier alternative, that I sampled a few postpartum reshaping apparatuses. Let’s face it, these things are girdles, and I’d venture to guess, they are about as comfortable as the old school versions. The thing about squeezing your body into sausage casings constructed of elastic and velcro (my torture garments of choice were named the Belly Band and HipShrinx), is that whatever gets squeezed in needs someplace to escape. See image below for visual representation…needless to say, there is no easy way out. The gym it is.

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