New Phase...New Panties!

Some days, underwear choice doesn't say anything more than what was clean and in the drawer when you hurriedly dressed. Some days, your underwear says a lot about what you're thinking, how you're feeling, where your life is or what is going on.

For my teens and early twenties, I was all about avoiding panty lines. No joke. I wore cute undies. Panties with funny phrases or pretty designs. I don't think I owned any ugly underwear. With the exception of maybe a pair of the support top type that made you look super skinny when you wore a dress that might typically show lumps or bulges. You know, the ones that came before Spanx. I think I had a pair to wear under a prom dress? Or maybe it was a bridesmaid dress? Either way. There was a single pair I can kind of recall always lingering in the back of my underwear drawer. Back there with pantyhose (does anyone still wear those?) and a couple of slips (which do occasionally come in handy) and ugly socks. For the last four years, my underwear drawer has been a dramatically different landscape though. And it is time for an underwear revolution!

Your teens and early twenties are all about being sexy. Dressing up and going out. You're young. You're pretty. You even own matching bras and panties! Okay, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever did. But there are people who do! You see them in the movies, like, all the time. And I do see them sold in sets. So I'm sure there are people who coordinate that sort of thing. But let's be honest. If they're both clean, that's what's important. Anyone who says different needs to have their medication reevaluated.

Then comes marriage. The first part, sexy undies continue. For the wedding, you buy super sexy underwear. Something that takes time to put on and time to take off. It's important! Then there's the honeymoon. That's going to be lots of strings and lace and skimpy, barely-there numbers.

A couple of years go by. Suddenly, you're pregnant. Ugh. Everything is so FAT. Your butt is big. Your belly is like all grades of big. And yeah, it's easy to be all "It's for the baby" and "Aw, look at that sweet foot sticking out" but there's that mean little voice in the back of your head that is flashing pictures of that super flat tummy and those sweet abs and that flawless skin and reminding you that you will never, ever look that way again. (Although I know there are some women who escape without a stretch mark or a single extra inch of waistline and I'm going to be honest, part of me wants to really hate them. I mean, how fair is that?) And when you're pregnant, things are hard and things are uncomfortable and nine months is a lot longer when you're counting down the days til you get your body back. So you wear comfy undies. Forget lace. Screw thongs. No way in heck I'm wearing something that will require any consideration or adjustment or will make me look twice at how gargantuan my butt has gotten.

Seriously, can we just take down the mirrors?

So the cute panties move to the back of the drawer and "mom panties" move in. Reasonably cut undies with a modest waistline and really bland colors. I mean, really bland. When you're planning on things like "water breaking" or mucus plugs or even lochia (google it!) why would you invest good money in cute panties? Besides, baby clothes are so much cuter! And less embarrassing to shop for when you feel like a whale. And when you're pregnant you're pretty much obsessed with the baby. Especially shopping for the baby!

If you do like me and lump all your babies together, or as it has been pointed out, spend the better part of 4 years pregnant (Yes. Yes, I did. Don't be judgey.) it's easier just to keep on keeping on. Plain ole bikini undies in plain ole colors. Purchased in a multi-pack to keep life simple. I had three piles in my drawer: pregnant, postpartum and regular Geni sizes. That made it easy to just rotate depending on where I was size wise that month. Then way back in the back, there were maybe three pairs of "cute" undies. By the time baby three was a year old, the "cute" undies were just the boy shorts in pretty patterns. They weren't even "sexy" panties at all. And bras? Bah. Nursing bras got the most use up until recently. We all know those are way more about functionality than appearance.

It was a sad day when I realized that I didn't really have any thing that qualified as pretty panties. Nothing. Not a single sexy pair. I was going to go out with Josh and thought I would wear something that doesn't scream "mom jeans" (thank God I don't own any of those!) and by jove, there was nothing. Nothing. It was very depressing. What had happened? Where had they gone? How had I changed so much that I hadn't even realized that I didn't even have them anymore?

For the last five years, I have dedicated a lot (ALL!) of my time and energy to little people. I wouldn't change it for the world. But I have sacrificed a whole lot of me in the process. I don't spend time shopping or dressing or doing for me. I spend my time for them. Which is how I believe it should be. Parents make sacrifices for their children. So they can have what they need. What they want. But I feel sacrifices for what they want should be limited. After all, how can you teach them to work for want they want if they have everything they want for nothing and you clearly work yourself to the bone and don't have anything you want? There is no way I  can raise beautiful daughters with good self-esteem if I'm looking all disheveled and dumpy though. And 20 years from now, those little girls will be grown women out in the world doing their own thing, living their lives and I will be left a shell of a person. I won't even know who I am anymore, let alone what do with myself without other people to take care of. I don't want that to be my life. A sad, meaningless empty nest. I want to be able to enjoy a life with children grown. A life with a new purpose and a new vigor. And I'm not sure that's possible if I have spent more than two decades as less than a person.

So I thought, enough. Enough! I am done having babies. (Please, God, I'm done with babies. Right?) And I decided it was time to clean out the ole underwear drawer. It is one thing to put on some makeup and a decent outfit. It's easy to spruce up on the outside and look like you might care. But what's underneath those clothes, that's more about what you think about you. And I think I'm done feeling dumpy. I'm done feeling bland and feeling like generic multi-packs are it. Nope. They're not.

So the drawer got a revamp. There is lace and pretty colors. I threw away a bunch of old, not-too-pretty undies. I'm ready to start the truly postpartum phase of my life. A phase that doesn't plan on being an old ginormous and miserable pregnant lady again. One that isn't planning on dealing with sleepless nights and days without a shower and unspeakable amounts of spit-up and baby poo. One with toddlers and preschoolers and a day in our foreseeable future with school-age kids. A phase where my husband and I might actually get a regular date night (I mean, surely there are people who will watch three kids who can at least all wipe their own butt, right? I mean, they're easier then...right?). A phase where days aren't a frantic rush to get every one fed and dressed and brushed (yay for OT) and doing something "productive." I will never wish our time away, I love them being little and dependent. I know that I will never be as important as I am now. And I cherish our tender moments together. But I'm also so very tired of tantrums and dirty diapers. And I think it's okay to be. I think it's okay to be ready to be done with babies and the terrible two's.

So for this momma, it's new panties. No more planning for the next pregnancy. I can get in shape to actually STAY in shape. Keep up with my yoga. Go to a zumba class. Enjoy my kids without having to worry about the next one. We can plan vacations without thinking "Oh wait, we will have a three month old then, can we do that?" We can get back to living and stop just surviving. Which, to be honest, three babies in four years really is. Just survival. But we did. We survived. So let's live.

New panties. New panties. Maybe it'll be a mantra! Do you think I could get bumper stickers made?

I'm by far not saying that comfy panties are wrong. Or that wanting to wear modest cut briefs means you don't love yourself. Just for me, it was a big indicator that something was wrong in my bigger picture. And I'm not going to start buying willy-nilly for me while abandoning my poor children to rags and ruin. In fact, I've spent the last two weeks shopping for clothes for them and I can't wait until they all arrive! Though you may need to remind me to hide next month's credit card statement from the hubs. (Hey, rewards points baby! It's like money in the bank!) Meanwhile, a half dozen pairs of underwear does not a selfish mother make.

And I didn't throw away ALL the ugly panties. Hey, there's always laundry day. And sometimes, man, you just really need to be comfy.