Anyway. All of that was
So the other day, I'm standing outside raking for all I'm worth, bending and picking up branches, etc. and I notice that cars are starting to pass by a little more slowly and that people are looking at me. My first inclination was to assure myself that they think I'm a total badass for tackling such a huge project by my own little self. My second inclination was to think, "Dude, they're so checking you out! Girl, you still got it!" and feel all kinds of hot out there in my jeans and tight-ish shirt showing off my nice nursing rack. Hah, Motherhood, you can't beat me!
Well, at some point I reached back to grab the wasitband of my jeans and hike them up and grabbed cotton. A big, billowy bunch of cotton. Gasp! My granny-panties have spilled out over the top of my jeans. Mortification began to set in when it fully dawned on me that my shirt had scooted up, my jeans had scooted down, and my panties were moving into the void. My bright blue panties. Sitting there, highlighting my post-partum muffin top like a big glob of frosting.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am a sexy beast.
After fiddling with it for a few minutes, I realized that there was, short of a pair of suspenders and/or a great deal on liposuction, nothing that could be done for the time being. So I went back to work and made a conscious effort to keep my backside pointed house-ward to spare the drivers the sight of my frosted muffin and spare me the humiliation of knowing that they're not checking out my sexy butt, they're laughing at the demise of my dignity.