Mommy Makeover

Since I work at a yoga studio and do yoga almost every day, I wear a lot of yoga clothes.

Right now I'm annoyed at Lululemon because a size 4 gives me a slight muffin top and a size 6 fits like wrinkled elephant skin. (I know you're thinking that this is not necessarily their fault and I am thinking that's not what I want to hear at all, thanks.)

The other day I pulled on the more comfortable size 4s and a form fitting top and stared at myself in the mirror.

With impeccable posture, it's okay, I thought, standing up perfectly straight before slumping back to my regular posture because I know I won't maintain impeccable posture.

I grabbed the extra flesh at my midsection and squeezed it this way and that, deciding I looked really good when it was just folded behind me. Maybe I needed lipo or a tummy tuck. Maybe those kids really have ruined me, I decided.

I don't like my boobs in yoga tops either. I'm going to add those to the list of things the kids broke. It's really not fair, it's not even a vanity thing to want to have them fixed...more like reconstructive surgery. It should come free with motherhood -- a lift and maybe a small implant because, you know, while they're in there they might as well.

I fantasized about that for a minute, which friends I would ask for a referral, which bank I would have to rob to afford it. I looked in the mirror with my impeccable posture and sucked in stomach and pushed up boobs and thought that this would be perfect, really, and wondered how much time I would need off and how I would care for the children and if stitches would be gross and how much it would hurt.

Then I thought about all of that, what I was willing to put myself through, and I decided this could all be at least improved by eating better and exercising differently and really making a conscious effort with this impeccable posture business.

And then I decided I should just wear bigger shirts.

Problem solved.