In my top drawer, tucked away in the far left corner, there is an array of beautiful bras and underwear. Flowers, stripes, polka dots, lace, silk – there are at least a dozen sets that sit there, waiting to be used again. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Because these poor souls haven’t seen the outside of my drawer in over three years.
Welcome to the world of mom underwear. For me, those words instantly bring to mind an image of giant, neutral shaded undies that usually reside underneath a faded pair of mom jeans. I can remember seeing my own mother’s collection of these and thinking, “I’ll NEVER have underwear like this.”
And then I got pregnant. In the beginning, I continued to wear my brightly coloured little collection, and as my tiny baby bump emerged, I looked adorable, for about four months. Then the maternal fat stores started multiplying, my boobs got enormous, and my butt began to look a little more healthy. At first, I only put the bras away and continued to wear my little panties, but eventually the elastic seams began to bulge and I knew that I had to retire them for the rest of the pregnancy. “See you in a few months,” I thought happily, and continued to wear other assorted cotton undies that I’d acquired over time. At this point, my collection was still cute – just not sexy.
Cut to giving birth (the definition of NOT sexy). Actually, let’s look at the post-birth. I had to undergo an emergency c-section, something that had never even crossed my mind. A couple of days after the surgery, before I left the hospital, I tried to put on some undies that I brought from home, only to realize that the top of the elastic overlapped directly with my incision. There was no way I would be able to sit down with the constant friction due to the overlap, let alone start to heal properly.
This is where everything started to go downhill.
In order to make it post-partum, I had to buy my first pair of mom underwear. And not just any old pair of panties – I had to get the highest waisted shit on the market. Almost belly button high, these super thick, white cotton monsters were the WORST. I managed to wear them for the first couple of weeks until I graduated to a slightly less beastly package of Fruit-of-the-Looms that were maybe three quarters of an inch lower in the waist. They came in a package of six, ranging in design from basic white to a rosy pink with cream polka dots. After I lost some of the baby weight, I decided to really treat myself; so I went to the grocery store and sifted through the underwear bin until I found a few pairs of Joe brand boy shorts that seemed ok. Just this weekend, I had the impulse to buy some more underwear and found myself at Walmart debating between the 6 pack of bikinis or the 6 pack of hipsters. (I chose the hipsters, because they sounded cooler.)
My pretty panties are still waiting for me in that lonely, dark, drawer, waiting for the day that the baby weight is finally gone and my boobs shrink back to a nice, respectable B. Until then, I will wear my Walmart hipsters with something much less than pride – a dull, heavy acceptance that I am just another tired lady who has fought the mom underwear battle and lost. (For now.)