Man, I was fat. I'm still fat, just not AS fat as I was a month ago. Not as fat as the day before I gave birth, but fat, nonetheless.
I have to tell you real quick, and then I'll get off the fat chat (I am so effing witty today. That's what happens when the pest control people are an hour an a half late, but I don't really care because oh holy of holies, BOTH my kids are sleeping, and I should be studying, and where's my Adderall? Shit.). Anyway, back to where I think I was going with this - underpants. Good Lord, is there anything worse than growing OUT of your underpants? This may be entirely too much information, but for those who know what pregnancy underpants are (even if you just bought your regular kind two sizes bigger, like me), you never want to wear them again, right? (Unless you're pregnant again. And really, if you kept your preggo undies, shame on you. I kept mine, not for the just in case, but because I just don't make time to do shit like that.)
I grew into my pregnancy unders. WTF, ME!? I refused. There was no way that I was going to put those monsters back on, even though they were the only option. Unfortunately, there are certain times in a gal's life where underpants are necessary, so I broke down (yep, I cried) and put them on. Swear they could have fit a baby killer whale, but such is life.
My whole point to this rambling mess is I fit back into my normal underpants again. Hallelujah! And they're even a little big. That could be because they're so old the elastic is shot, but that's a whole 'nother post.
Happy Saturday, y'all!