OK, if ya wanna get this story from the beginning of this earth-shatteringly exciting saga, you should really start be reading I'm Not Going To Let Myself Go (Part 1). Then, while it may seem a little bizarre, may I suggest you then move on to I'm Not Going To Let Myself Go (Part 2).
And here we are at Part 3 of this series. So last time we met (which, if you just took my advise above was only moments ago), I had just given birth to my little sweet pea Drew. He was in the NICU for 10 days and my feet looked like Homer Simpson's and I was continuing to drown my stress and beef up my already cow-like trunk with junk - namely, calorie-laden iced caps. Got the visual? Good. I'll skip the photograh then.
Let's continue on shall we?
So just to put a time-frame on this for you all, this was all going down at the end of October, 2010. Nothing screams "this is the season of the harvest" like green hospital jello and mystery meat loaf. Thank God for my fairy-God-mother-in-law who brought me Italian, home cooked goodness in a Tupperware container. It was a long week and a half, but we got through it, little Drew and I, and just in time to miss Halloween and greet November, we came home.
|My sweet pea Drew|
It was starting to get colder and after those first few days of just being happy to be sleeping in my own bed with my three little princes under the same roof, the baby blues hit me like a ton of bricks. One look in the mirror and all I saw was a fat, sweaty mess wearing her big husband's XXX-L t-shirt, maternity pants, a sorry excuse for a bun in her hair (read: a bird's nest in a scrunchy), with the skin of an awkward teenager and a milk supply that could feed a third-world country. At least there I would maybe feel productive. Here I just felt like falling asleep and hibernating until spring. Hey...I was the size of a bear right!??
|"Wacka, wacka wacka!!!"|
Postpardum depression was not something that was foreign to me. I had suffered with it with both my other boys and had experienced depression to different degrees at different points in my life. So...I was not surprised. I was just down. Really down. I had those "why did we do this?" thoughts and "I am a loser" thoughts and "I am going to catch the next flight to Hawaii and live on the beach and drink fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them and do yoga and write poetry and not have a care in the world" thoughts. I also had "I have TOTALLY let myself go" thoughts. Often.
|I look pretty happy here, don't I.|
That's 'cause I am a cartoon, I have big boobs and I'm drunk.
But with the unwavering help from the wonderful people in my life - especially my husband, my parents, my mother-in-law, my friends and my boys, I started to feel somewhat better. Full-blown depression did not set in and my crying stopped happening at "out of the blue" moments, like at the dinner table or while doing the dishes. Oh, the crying still happened...that is par for the course for any mother, never mind one with a new baby and two other very active little boys running around...but it got better.
But it was a long winter. Canadian winters are often hard to begin with, but running around to countless cold ice hockey rinks, three kids and smelly equipment in tow, getting homework done, breast feeding every 2-3 hours on very little shut-eye and not being able to take strolls with Drew due to the ice and snow was a little less than easy. I was wearing the same couple of black, stretchy maternity pants everywhere I went and I felt like I was spinning my wheels much of the time. My hair was growing and my highlights had all but disappeared. I tried to tell myself that the "ombre" look - the one with the darker hair at the top and the lighter hair at the bottom was very hip and young and trendy - which is something I learned from all the tabloids I had read - but somehow it looked way cooler on Drew Barrymore. Cool hair. Cool name. What a bitch!
|The other Drew.|
With my hair exactly!
So why the frick does Drew look so cute?
And historically (wow, that dates me a bit eh?), I was always one to spruce up a bit when I was leaving the house. A little foundation, blush, mascara, lip gloss. It always made me feel a little less...like crap. But now I couldn't even find the time or the energy to take a pee and frankly, putting on eye makeup meant having to take the frickin stuff off, which just seemed like too much work. So never mind the make up. Bring on the black pants, the under-eye circles that made me look like a line backer and the hair that looked like it was out of a really bad 80's music video...a total multi-coloured, teased mess - but in this case, not on purpose.
|Perhaps this is a better example |
of my hair at the time.
But yeah, this little guy is cuter than I was too.
Now I like to think of myself as a somewhat witty person, so I did consider going with the flow and jumping in to the 'letting myself go" look with gusto. As someone who likes to take a gander or twelve at the many treasures in the local thrift stores I knew that I could really do a number on myself. I mean, just the plethora of themed, holiday sweaters alone is enough to make a true soccer mom swoon. If I were to go for it, how could I not invest in a Christmas sweater with a snowman, Rudolph, Santa, a snowflake, the baby Jesus and a partridge in a pear tree all on one, cozy garment!?!?! Talk about getting more for your money!
|"I'm too sexy for this sweater!"|
And the extra-large stirrup pants! And the mom jeans! And the sweat shirts with the very realistic renderings of wildlife, like wolves and tigers and cougars!
Cougars! Now there's an idea!!!! Oh the heads I would turn at the night clubs never mind at Walmart!
And so I thought of giving up. Of letting myself go. But if that were the end of the story, that would be pretty frickin depressing doncha think?
You guessed it. Part 4 is right around the corner.
And who knows what I'll be wearing then.