Temerity Jane
24. 05. 2011

Do you guys remember when I got some really big underpants for Christmas, and what a glorious day that was for me?

And do you remember when I was in the hospital in the beginning of April and a nurse spilled ice water all over me by accident and I asked Phil to bring me some big underpants and I realized that I had previously had no real idea of how truly enormous underpants could really be?

And then remember how I wore those truly enormous underpants for the rest of my pregnancy, and, okay, for a while after delivery as well?

Well, anyway, all of that happened.

I had my c-section over three weeks ago now, and I held absolutely no illusions of my body springing – ok, doughily molding – itself back into shape. I was pleased, however, to find out that at two weeks after Penny’s birth, I’d lost 20 of the 23 pounds I had gained during the pregnancy.

And please bear in mind that I’m using the word “lost” here like, “Oh, dear, I’ve lost 20 lbs. Did I drop them? Are they behind the sofa? Damnit.” You know. The definition of “lost” where something kind of just vanishes without any intent or effort on your part. Not the definition of “lost” that means I was eating right or exercising or anything.

And also bear in mind that while I had lost (“lost”) 20 lbs by the scale’s measurement, my body in NO WAY reflected that I was 3 lbs away from what I had weighed before all of this started. I mean, in NO WAY.

So, I kept wearing the big underpants. And the gigantic basketball shorts. And the floppy pajama pants. And maternity jeans. Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to buy myself some kind of in between wardrobe. Not that I’ve got too much pride to buy some “fat(er) clothes” or to motivate myself to get back into my somewhat less floppy former shape, but because, come on. I will not spend money on temporary clothing when I have perfectly good clothing right here.

Also? I don’t know if you’ve had a baby and immediately lost a good chunk of weight but were left looking at your current shape and wondering if you were trapped in some kind of alternate dimension where “lost 20 lbs” actually means “deflated 20 lbs of flesh until it was good and squishy and relocated it to a weird position where such flubber would never appear on its own.” I don’t know if you’ve done that, but you will have to imagine with me that clothes shopping doesn’t seem like it would be any kind of easy.

Like, you know how magazines are always breaking down jeans by body shape? Like hourglass or pear or whatever? (BY THE WAY, why do those things always give you options for big bust OR big hips? Attention, ladies – you may only have ONE large portion of your body, or else there are no clothes out there for you.)

Right, anyway, so you’re supposed to shop for clothes by body shape, and after a c-section, I can only imagine it going like this, if I were to go shopping for some in between jeans:

“Ok, I think I’m a pear – you know, kind of heavy on the bottom? Except, maybe a double pear? Do you have anything for double pear? Like, I’m heavy on the bottom, and then above the bottom of the pear, there’s a second pear bottom? I mean, one pear bottom on top of the other pear bottom. Double pear. Except, the top bottom – are you following me here? The top bottom would be maybe a rotten pear. Not that I’m spoiling or something. I mean that it’s softer than the bottom bottom, which I guess would be normal pear. More firm, as compared to the top bottom, which is squishy. Except, the bottom bottom is kind of squishy, too. But the top bottom is more squishy. I mean, you can move the whole top bottom to wherever you want. Kind of like play doh? But I can’t just move it away. It would have to go in the jeans as well. So, what I’m saying is, I need some jeans for a double pear. A DOUBLE FUCKING PEAR. OH MY GOD. JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING ELASTIC.”

Right. So. I continue to wear maternity jeans and enormous underpants. Or, at least, I did continue to wear the most enormous of enormous underpants up until a few days ago, when I noticed that the space between me and the waistband had increased dramatically. The elastic isn’t even being strained anymore. It’s not even elastic-ing at all. I was having to find ways to hide an unsightly bulge of bunched up underpants under the elastic panel of the maternity jeans that I will continue to wear and I don’t even care what anyone has to say about it.

Problem was, though, that my standard underpants are not up to the challenge of the DOUBLE PEAR.

So, much to my disgust, I had to go out and purchase some new big underpants. BIG underpants. Not enormous underpants. They’re just plain big. My enormous underpants were at least comical in their hugeness. I’ve been downgraded now. Downgraded to plain old big underpants. Underpants that could conceivably be of an appropriate size to fit me for some time to come, without even a giggle or a snort at the sight of them. If you’ve got to wear big ol’ granny underpants, there’s something to be said for being able to tuck them into your bra, you know? I mean, your underpants are big, but they’re HILARIOUS. But now? Now my underpants cover a sensible amount of butt and fit perfectly just below my belly button. I cannot TELL YOU how disappointed I was when my new big underpants fit just right.

They’re not even FUNNY. They’re just BIG.

A comparison for you:

Me: What will I do with all of my enormous underpants?
Phil: Build a sail?

28 responses to “Closing a chapter. A big, billowy chapter.”

  1. Diane says:

    So I was thinking maybe you fold up the enormous underpants, like when the flag gets lowered at sunset, and then folded in that elaborate way that I bet Phil knows how to do, and they have those frames for them … have you seen them? Triangular shaped deep frames for displaying flags that have a lot of meaning or whatever. So you put them in there. That’s immediately where my mind went. A ceremony for the retiring of the truly huge underpants.

    TJ Reply:

    HA. YES. And there is this shelf we have that we haven’t put up yet, and I could have Phil put it up SPECIFICALLY FOR THE PURPOSE of displaying my underpants in their protective case.

  2. Nona says:

    “A DOUBLE FUCKING PEAR. OH MY GOD. JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING ELASTIC!” Ah yes, I know that feeling very, very well.

  3. Capn John says:

    Build a sail??? WTF??? He’s not in the Navy!

    “Hello, is that Vandenberg? I think we found one of your Parachutes.”

  4. Jessie says:

    Um, YES on that whole double pear description. Five months out and I still have that going on, despite the fact that I lost all of the baby weight by week 3. Yet still nothing fits in any manner that could be considered flattering. I so need to find out how to get rid of the top pear.

  5. Becky says:

    This: BY THE WAY, why do those things always give you options for big bust OR big hips? Attention, ladies – you may only have ONE large portion of your body, or else there are no clothes out there for you.

    That is one of the many reasons I detest magazines that talk about clothing. What they hell am I supposed to buy? I could call myself “hourglass” in that I have a big butt and big chest, but I’m not slim like you mean, so that doesn’t really work anyway. And also most of my “big butt” is actually “huge hips/thighs”. So that’s even more fun.

    Ugh.

    I love the idea of retiring the underpants in a special display box. Then, when Penny is older you can pass them on to her!

  6. Dawn K. says:

    I’m one year out and still flabbergasted each day with the shape of my body (not in an I hate my body way, merely a wonderous inquisitiveness).

    It’s like when you see earthworms after a storm on the cement, and they’re all bloated and misshapen. They’re still the same ‘size’ but don’t look anything like they originally did.

  7. Jessica V. says:

    “Attention, ladies – you may only have ONE large portion of your body, or else there are no clothes out there for you.”

    Word.

  8. MommiePie says:

    Ugh. I was in maternity pants until the baby was 4 months old. I had to go back to work at 3 months and was forced to buy temporary clothes that fit. I was so mad. But I only bought one pair of pants that I rotated with my maternity pants until just this week (6 months) when my pre-baby pants fit again. Need some more wiggle room to tuck in all the extra skin though.

  9. Vogt says:

    I snorted at the double pear description. Love it. I haven’t even had kids yet and I’m a double pear shape.

    Double the fruit is good, right? Right??

  10. Lynnette says:

    GodDAMMIT, TJ. Now I have to go buy enormous underpants to tuck into my bra, just to know the sweet sensation. Honestly, since I’m still wearing the same bra I was when I was breastfeeding a few months ago, I have some extra room in there now and could use the extra padding.

  11. Dawn says:

    YES on the magazine/body type thing. I consistently fall into three of those categories – hips, bust, “tummy” (ugh). Basically, everything but straight!

  12. rsngphoenix8 says:

    With my horrendously huge butt the worst thing in the world was when pants only came in low riders or ultra low riders–and of course the long shirt/tank top crazy didn’t come until years later. Let’s just say I was very careful about how I sat.

    Also I would appreciate it if as a society we all voted it perfectly normal to wear flowy jersey pajama bottoms to any occasion. That would be great.

    LemonFresh Reply:

    Several years ago, I ALMOST convinced myself that wearing flowy jersey PJ bottoms with a fancy top to a nice restaurant would be okay. They look like those skirt-pant things, right? And they’re a nice colour…

    And then my roommate came in and said, “No, you are not wearing pyjamas to your birthday dinner. NOT A GOOD IDEA.” And I didn’t. I was sad.

    rsngphoenix8 Reply:

    That is sad! I propose tomorrow be National Flowy Jersey Pajama Pants Day to make up for that! ;-)

    Side note: I love Pajama Jeans! Totally worth the money.

  13. Mama Bub says:

    I have absolutely no sense of my own size. I’ll look at something and think, “That’s huuuuge, but it’s the smallest they have*, so let’s try.” And it fits. Perfectly.

    *Smallest meaning the smallest size the have ABOVE my actual size. Not that I’m looking at a size 2 and thinking, “That seems roomy.”

    At one year postpartum I think we can all agree that this is now my size unless I want to actively do something about it. I tell myself that my bones grew and/or shifted and that’s why my underwear will always seem like they’re going to be entirely too big. Until they’re on. And they’re not.

  14. LemonFresh says:

    I also hate those magazine fitting things because I’m kind of… in the middle, sort of? Like I’m medium-ish most places, but not hourglass cause my waist doesn’t go in but I’m not straight up and down cause I definitely have boobs and hips and it’s all very confusing. I AM NOT A FRUIT APPARENTLY. WOE IS ME.

  15. skraps says:

    “Attention, ladies – you may only have ONE large portion of your body, or else there are no clothes out there for you”

    Speaking of this. With all that spare time you have since you had Penny can you please summarize the latest cosmo so I can talk with my wife. It has been so long I may have to actually pick up one of these magazines and read some of it.

    Because of your summary’s my wife thinks I care about what cosmo has to say and keeps asking if I read article X.

  16. Cindy says:

    Just had a baby 2 months ago. Double pear thing… funniest shit ever. And oh so true. Sadly.

  17. Veronica says:

    OHMYGOD. I too, have a double pear. Like, there’s a top bottom and a bottom bottom and one is squishier and it makes finding pants a pain in the arse, kind of literally. The sacrifices I made for my children!

  18. April Stotler says:

    I call it my hamburger belly.

  19. Katie Mae says:

    AND ANOTHER THING about lady-mag lady-body-type descriptions: Why is “athletic” a separate body type from all the others? So, like, you can have any of various body shapes, but THOSE are not “athletic”. Do you have large thighs? Well, they are not strong! Do you have large boobs? Sorry, NO SPORTS.

  20. Tempest Wind says:

    Nooooo~! *mourns the loss of enormous underpants*

    Maybe make the enormous undies into shawls for your doggies?

  21. Josefina says:

    I don’t have a double pear, but I do think my belly looks like a butt. My youngest is eight. I don’t think the belly butt is going anywhere.

    I bought a pair of underwear that was three sizes larger than my usual. I was laughing SO HARD at the thought of what my husband would say. Yeah, so I washed them and you know what? They pretty much fit. WHO’S LAUGHING NOW? No one. Because there is no discernible joke. Waste of underwear dollars.

  22. Alex says:

    Your enormous underpants were my favorite part of your pregnancy.

  23. I love you so much for this post. Especially for putting into words the weird “I’ve lost weight and yet so doughy and lumpy and weird” feeling. I’m officially back in my pre-baby pants size, and yet there’s still all this extra leftover me to put somewhere. It’s odd!

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