After talking to a few readers, despite my warning not to pity Dan, it seems you people cannot help but feel a little bad for the guy. After all, this is my forum. He can't even defend himself. And while he goes to work everyday so that I can stay home and raise our daughter what do I do? I go to my forum and make fun of him where he cannot defend himself. Is this admission of mine self deprecating enough for you? It's not enough, I know. You are not going to be happy until you know the root of my evil. I can hear your wilting voices saying... But this is Dan. He's amazing. He gets you through your depression, he says you look great when you're feeling fat, he considers veganism when you start reading aloud from animal cruelty brochures while he is trying to eat, he... is... perfect! I fear this is my own doing. You see while Dan is perfect for me, I would hate to think you believed I married the perfect man in the universal sense of the word.
It all started a few weeks ago when we went to look at some model homes in Queen Creek. We decided that we are at the point in our young married lives where it is time, not only to begin feeling badly that we do not own a home at our age, but to begin looking at homes we may or may not be able to afford pending the pre-qual. credit check we avoid with every bone in our respective bodies.
It was an exciting morning. It was exciting until I had to get dressed. I am at an awkward phase in my baby weight loss program. Here's how it goes. You go through your whole pregnancy buying up in size, in so much disbelief over your growing belly that you often overlook your growing ass and thighs. Then, when you have the baby you think you are going to slip right back into the clothes you wore at the beginning of your pregnancy, only to find that while your belly has deflated you still have the ass and thighs of a woman who is 9 months pregnant.
If you men thought you couldn't empathize with a woman's weight obsession pre-pregnancy, run for your lives postpartum. My daughter is 5 1/2 months old and I am just now fitting into the clothing I wore at 6 months pregnant. They are awkward at best, because they are all built to fit a huge belly. When there is no huge belly anymore, all you have left is a thick elastic band squeezing and segregating your postpartum tummy into the overflow above the waistband and the jellyroll hanging beneath it.
Men don't know. They just don't know any better. Any man who acts like he knows, doesn't. It's a fact. I dated one guy, one time, who knew what it was like and guess what? He was gay. Men don't know.
The reason I mention the weight loss is that when a woman's baby is only 5 months old, she has a strange mixed assortment of pregnancy and pre-pregnancy clothes to work with. I currently have 2 pairs of pants that fit properly. 2 other pairs of pants that I will wear if I have to. I have about 6 tops that vary in comfort. 2 that need to be ironed so they aren't worn much. Beneath all of this I wear nursing bras and old pregnancy undies, so forgive me if I am little sensitive about my wardrobe.
Like I said, we were on our way to Queen Creek and the morning was filled with promise. I wore my army green pants that fit perfectly, and was in such a good mood I ironed my beige shirt. If Dan had a voice in this blog he would correct me here by saying, "It was khaki".
We stopped to get breakfast on our way out of town and as we were leaving the restaurant Dan said something along the lines of being confident that we would have no problem finding a house with Steve Irwin in the car. Because I was dressed in all khaki. I was embarrassed to realize what I had done. How I had dressed. I told him he had to take me home so I could at least change my shirt. He refused. We were less that 5 blocks from the house and almost an hour away from Queen Creek and he refused to take me home to change, even after I threatened him with my silence the entire drive. It sounds funny now, but I was mad. And he didn't care. He laughed, said "Aw Crikey" when I spilled my coffee, and in an Australian accent, narrated my every move while I squeegeed the windshield when we stopped for gas. “It is all about perceived danger. In front of that winshield wiper she must remain in complete control. Absolute and complete control. That is her profession as the Crocodile Hunter" or some such crap. It was at this point that I swore my revenge. I threatened him with the wrath of my blog but he would not desist.
Dan doesn't fear the blog. I warn him constantly. The other day, he walked into the living room with a pillow in one hand and blanket in the other to announce to me that he was going out to take a nap in his van (parked in the driveway) and could I wake him in an hour. I told him then, "You know I will have to write about this" but his only response was, "Oh, and don't come a knockin' if the van is a rockin'".