Body Moving

My supportive undergarments have begun to fall off, and sadly, I do not mean my drawers.  Since I stopped breast-feeding, and I stopped producing milk, everything went back to normal.  The size “D” I had been flaunting (yes, flaunting), has resumed it’s humble “B” status.  Perhaps two inches lower, and perhaps possibly a “C”, but most certainly not the booming bosom of a month ago.  When it’s over it’s over!

My metabolism is also faulty now.  No longer are the days of eating whatever I craved until I felt full.  No longer are the days, either, when only a little will satisfy me.  There was a time when I could never, ever — even when I was self-proclaimedly “starving” — eat an entire sandwich at a restaurant.  When I got pregnant two years ago, though, my appetite necessarily increased, and has not resumed its waif-model habit of yore.

Now I have to work out and avoid simple carbs.

So how’s this for awesome: a shrinking chest and growing gut.  Welcome, 33rd birthday in ten days, I’ve never felt older.

As I mentioned before, though, my undergarments aren’t all falling off of me these days, or being tugged off either.  Without the HD around to witness my pear-shaped defeat it feels less depressing.  I have four more months to retrain my body to hopefully look its best when next I have the pleasure of losing all my undergarments.