In Which I Butcher My Pants

Postnatal exercise is all very well. But when you’ve got a night out with your NCT girls coming up- as I did, last weekend- then you need a quick fix. And when it comes to quick fixes, there is only one thing that will work.

Head to your nearest department store. Locate the lingerie department. Walk past the wispy lace panties. Leave behind the silk satin thongs. Bid adieu to those scrappy little suspender belts. Say au revoir to anything frilly, frivolous and fun. Keep walking (for it is always right at the back) to the section labelled “Shapewear”. This is your world now, and you must learn to navigate it.

There are things here that look like torture devices. There are things that I can’t even begin to figure out. There are things that words can’t describe. But all I basically want is a pair of knickers with a wide “control” waistband that will squash and flatten everything down and make me look like someone who hasn’t just been pregnant for nine months. The control panties are arranged in three columns; one labelled “Light Control”, another “Medium Control” and the third “Firm Control.” I go straight for the firm; there’s no point messing about.

They are flesh coloured, and hideous, obviously. But the waistband feels reassuringly tight when I stick my hands in and try to stretch it. So far, so good. I glance at the price tag. £45.00! For a pair of pants! I resist the urge to hang them back up. I take them to the till, telling myself they’ll be worth every penny if they work.

I haven’t left myself any margin for error, as the night out (cool restaurant, swanky cocktail bar) is happening that very night. By the time I’ve applied the necessary amount of make-up and have battled my hair into some kind of submission, I have exactly nine minutes until my taxi is due to arrive. Off come the pyjama shorts. On go the fat pants. With the tags ripped off, obvs.

I look at the front. It’s all pretty impressive. The flesh-coloured waistband has whittled my waist into something approaching an hourglass shape and the front control panel feels like it’s doing what it should. So far, so awesome. Until I turn around and gasp in horror. Everyone gets a bit of VPL from time to time, but this is on a whole new level. Each butt cheek is perfectly cut in half and under a tight dress, my bottom will look very strange indeed.

I pull them down. But now the waistband doesn’t work cover my abdomen and I have a hideous muffin top. I pull them up again. The VPL returns. I have five minutes to go. Shit, shit, shit.

I could take them off and put a normal pair of pants on, of course. But from the front everything is fine and letting it all hang out isn’t an option. There’s really only one thing I can do. I grab a big pair of scissors from the kitchen. And I convert the short-style back to a thong-style back. In other words-  I’m just going to say it-  I cut the arse out of my pants.

I put them back on. They look terrible of course, but once my dress is on over the top, everything looks fine. Well, better than usual, anyway.

Ironically, a few days later I am in Asda and I decide to pick up a £5.00 version of the same as my “spare pair”- can’t afford another £45.00 on knickers. Also, what draws me to these is that they are labelled “No VPL!” which gives me some hope that I may not meet the same pitfall that I did last time. I took them home and tried them on and ladies, I can honestly say, they are bloody fantastic, and they will be getting a lot more wear than my butchered £45.00 pair.

I guess the moral of the story is, when it comes to control panties, expensive isn’t always better, so don’t waste your valuable cocktail money. Go to Asda, grab a cheap pair and go out and party. Because as long as those fat pants are hoisted up around your wobbly bits, you’ll look great.

HELP! I’VE GOT A MUMMY TUMMY!

HELP! I’VE GOT A MUMMY TUMMY!

Having my daughter has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I genuinely wouldn’t want to change a thing. If I could go back in time, I would want to conceive at exactly the same moment with exactly the same outcome. Some people think that having a baby turns your world upside down. I think that my world was upside down before, and Amelia has turned it the right way up. Being a new mum was difficult, but six months in, things are pretty much perfect. There’s only one problem. One large, wobbly problem that’s impossible to ignore. No amount of dieting or exercise will shift it. Yes, I’m talking about the infamous and much dreaded Mummy Tummy.

Now, I’m not claiming that my abdomen was washboard-perfect before I got pregnant, because it wasn’t. There was always a slight convex incline, if I’m being brutally honest. I actually quite enjoyed having a bump, because it meant I didn’t have to worry about my tummy sticking it- if it was, there was an excuse for it. Now, however, the bump is gone, and all that seems to be left in its place is a saggy bowl of blancmange. It’s not pleasant, for my eyes or anybody else’s. I have decided therefore, that Something Must Be Done.

After a quick Google, it becomes apparent that I am not the only un-yummy mummy desperately seeking to restore her pregnancy-ravaged figure. There’s a whole array of postnatal exercise classes out there, the most promising of which seems to be something called Buggyfit. Buggyfit is a franchise which runs groups in a range of locations across the country. I have an initial mental image of athletic, Amazonian women sprinting with their prams, but the website assures me that there is definitely no running with buggies, and all exercises are specifically designed to help the postnatal body recover strength and restore its shape. Best of all, sessions are held in local parks and recreation grounds, so you don’t have to go anywhere near a gym. It sounds good to me, so I search for my local branch- Heaton Park- and sign up on the spot. I fill in a downloadable form and I’m done!  My first session will be 10am tomorrow.  

It’s only then I stop to realise that I am far form well-prepared. I don’t actually own a pair of trainers, and my jogging pants are more of the lounging-about-the-house variety that the go-jogging-in-public variety. However, I’m determined to see it through, and I’ve even persuaded a couple of my NCT group buddies to come along. I’ll let you know how it goes…!