My First Response

My husband began Seal Team training.  No, he isn’t becoming a Navy Seal.  It’s a get-in-shape program started by an ex-Navy Seal.  He wakes up at 5:30 in the morning and runs and squats and bear-crawls with 150 other nuts for an hour.

My first response?  OMG!  You’re going to get fit and I’m still going to look like I am wearing a tire around my waist.

Which doesn’t particularly surprise me since two months ago I told a friend that I am growing out my hair.  She said something like: But it looks so cute short.

My first response?  You just think I’m OLD.

Yes, this would be why I look askance when someone suggests I go with my first instinct or gut reaction.

My first response? You just want me to go to JAIL.

But enough about my crazy.  Let’s discuss this get-in-shape postpartum business.  In fact, let’s start with the next postpartum mom to mention how quickly she fit into regular jeans.  You know what she’s going to get?  NOTHING.  You hear me?  NO COMMENT ON YOUR BLOG/FACEBOOK STATUS/TWEET.  I will say nothing as it is still difficult to type while sucking in to wear my “big” jeans at nine months out.

I have to remind myself that I lost all the E-baby-weight in less than a year with no diet or exercise (except for the winning combination of sheer exhaustion and chasing an infant).

And since N is my second child, I might have to work a little harder, but that’s normal.  And any sentence that includes me and NORMAL is a KEEPER.

(I’m thinking of running the annual 10K but would probably have to accept that I’m officially weaning N.  So I’ll just pretend both and neither are happening.  Because that always works out so well.)

And let’s not forget about my hair.  The only pictures of me without my children are pictures of my new hairdos.  In response to my LARGE pregnancies, I get hip hairdos, and hip this year equals short and shorter and shortest.

And I love them.  At least when I get home from the hairdressers.  Then I go through the hair-in-shock phase.  Then the how-did-she-use-this-overly-expensive-hair-goo-again phase.  (I seriously had to reexamine those first pictures to remember what stuck up where.)  Then I get out the scarves.  Until my next hair appointment.

So I’m growing it out.  LONG. LONG. LONG.  Because I know what to do.  PONYTAILS!

And because I have an old-person theory.  If you are older than (fill-in-the-blank-as-I-keep-getting-older), you cannot have long hair.  If you look twenty from the back and sixty up front, you’re doing something WRONG.  Like terrifying young children.  So this may be (one of) my last hoo-rahs with long hair.

So if you are out and about over the next few months, keep your eyes peeled.  I’ll be the runner in my husband’s shorts with the tiny ponytail avoiding the cops and hoping to not leak milk.  You can’t miss me.

Alex Iwashyna

Alex Iwashyna went from a B.A. in philosophy to an M.D. to a SAHM, poet and writer by 30. She spends most of her writing time on LateEnough.com, a humor blog (except when it's serious) about her husband fighting zombies, awkward attempts at friendship, and dancing like everyone is watching. She also has a soft spot for culture, politics, and rude Southern people who offend her Yankee sensibilities. She parents 2 elementary-aged children, 1 foster baby, 3 cats, and 1 puppy, who are all Southern but not rude. Yet.

7 thoughts on “My First Response

  1. grow ponytail, grow!
    or if the transformative need is urgent, do like celebritites and go get extensions! (or a clip on ponytail? a runners cap with a braid sewn on?)

    thumbs up on this post : )
    (so says the momma who’s trying not to think about the fact that she had lost all the baby weight and then some by this point postpartum with baby #1, still can’t fit into the prepregnancy clothes which she MISSES desperately, and is married to the man who started running ultramarathons while she was megahuge postpartum after baby #1 – at the time, she confesses she did think to herself “damn, now i’m going to look even more short and fat next to his tall skinny self when he’s all ultrafit?? this can’t be good…”)

    I hear you, sister!

  2. My favorite part of this mom gig was to lose the weight at a fairly impressive rate…only to gain it back a year later and not get the scale to BUDGE no matter what I do…running madly, eating right, giving up (gasp) chocolate.

  3. Ye-ah.

    Try living in California. The mommies surrounding me carry their toddlers on their slim hips, gain ten pounds during pregnancy and pop back to the pool four weeks after giving birth, flauting bigger boobs and nearly flat stomachs while wearing a bikini. Their hair is highlighted and lowlighted and oh-so-perfectly styled.

    I show up to playgroups and feel like Bubba's oldest sister Bertha – complete with the stained shirt and too tight pants that probably should be tossed but if they were I wouldn't have anything to wear. I've found a few grays and I perpetually sport the “mommy”-tail.

    No. Not bitter. Really.

    Side note: I'm obviously reading your archives because a) I'm at work and b) I'm a cyber stalker. But a nice one!

  4. Your comment made me SO happy. Too bad we can't join the same
    playgroup. (sloppy moms unite)
    I would die in Cali. My a-cup alone probably precludes me from moving
    there.
    I'm glad you're reading the archives. Keep the hilarious comments
    coming!


    Alex Iwashyna
    http://www.lateenough.com

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