G'bye boobs ... hello healthy gums!

Charlie being the wonderful husband that he is ... took time off on Wednesday so that I could have an entire day, to myself. Like any normal woman ... I wanted to go shopping.

He opted for me to have a weekday, as opposed to a weekend ... because the weekends are sacred for us as a family. Moreover, there are less crowds on the weekday ... so perfect shopping and parking conditions.

Had I not been in such DIRE need of new clothes, I probably would have decided to spend my "free day" getting a massage in the morning and the afternoon at Coronado Beach. However, most days, I live in a pair of Champion sweatpants. The days I'm not wearing my Champion sweatpants - and when I really feel like getting spruced up - I'll wear my Adidas sweat suit. I even have the matching sports bra top to go underneath, for special occasions.

What does that tell you?

The last time I updated my wardrobe was with maternity clothes. Which is why I was mortified during my recent business trip to Palm Springs when I realized I had nothing, other than exercise apparel, to pack. (Keeping in mind that I generally work out of our house. When I do have to go out for work related activities, I am usually sporting a pair of jeans).

Standing in front of my closet with an empty suitcase at my feet… my eyes fell on my maternity clothes. These were the newest, hippest, non-exercise clothes in my wardrobe. Unfortunately, they are also the clothes that I wore when I was PREGNANT WITH TRIPLETS and weighed 100 pounds more than I do, currently.

After discussing my predicament with Charlie, he convinced me that it would be ludicrous to wear maternity clothes to a professional business meeting, especially since I am no longer pregnant. Instead, I opted to pack my suitcase full of the clothing line from Winter, 2002. I was donning brown, red and black suede. In Palm Springs. In April.

I would have been more comfortable in my silky maternity Hawaiian print.

Fast forward to this week. After taking care of some "work" related items Wednesday morning ... I jumped in the shower, pulled on my trusty Adidas sweat suit and headed out the door. I felt positively giddy. A full day of shopping, by myself, lay before me. In the middle of the week, nonetheless.

I wander in to one of my favorite stores ... Talbots ... and am greeted by the bright colors of spring and summer fashion. "Oh, yippee!" I grab every single color of Capri pants they have ... daisy yellow, shamrock green, hot pink, light pink, turquoise, sky blue, purple ... with the adorable matching tanks tops. I traipse back to my dressing room, arms overflowing with all of these fresh, new clothes. I whip off my shirt, and for the first time - under the bright fluorescent lights - get my first jab of reality.

It looks like my bra is too big. Way too big. How can that be? I just bought this bra, when I weaned the triplets, three months ago. It dawns on me that maybe I should've waited a little longer than a week after weaning to go buy all new bras.

I try on the daisy yellow tank top and then I encounter hesitation as I try to pull up the pants. I must've pulled them off the hanger in such haste I forgot to open the zipper all the way. I check the zipper. It's open. All the way. I heave the pants up and am surprised that there is a lot of room in the waist, but not anywhere else. In fact, if I didn't know better, I might think they were a bit too tight. I spin around to look at myself in the mirror.

I don't look like the mannequin.

I am greeted by a huge, over ripe banana getting squished in all the wrong places. I peel off the pants and try on the hot pink set. And then the sky blue. And then the green. And then I tried on every other color that I had picked up when I first entered the store... anticipating that ONE of these damn pants is going to fit me right. And then I think really hard.

Denial sets in.

These pants - - why - - they must all be the wrong size. I fit in to this size before I was pregnant, splendidly. I don't understand. I've lost ALL my pregnancy weight, and then a bit more. Did I dream that?

There's a knock on the door.

"How is everything?"

"Uh. Well. I really don't know. I think there might be an error with your sizes."

(That's it. Blame it on Talbots.)

"Really? What size are you trying on?"

I quickly pull on my Adidas sweat suit and step outside, trying to close the door behind me so that the saleswoman can't see that I have the front half of the store, hanging in my fitting room.

"Here's the thing. This is the first time I've been clothes shopping since I gave birth to triplets." I need sympathy.

The 50'ish year old sales woman first opens her mouth in shock and then says "Triplets?! Oh good Lord. Honey, don't worry. You'll get your body back, one day."

ONE day?

She asked me which of the items that I had tried on "didn't work". I sheepishly opened the door, and handed her the daisy yellow, shamrock green and hot pink pant and top sets.

"OK then. Is this it?"

Who am I kidding? "Uh, no. Here's the rest. Like I said, I think the sizes are wrong."

I hand over the light pink, turquoise, sky blue and purple pants and tops.

While I'm contemplating my dilemma and looking at myself from every possible angle in the 3-sided mirror, the saleswoman comes back with a different "style" pant. She hands it to me and says, "Let's see how this one works. If you like it, THEN we can go pick out different colors."

I close the door and try on this next "style" of pant. My saleswoman is remarkably kind and patient. Not only did she not get miffed at me for wasting her time by having to put away 7 pairs of pants (when I could have figured out after trying on 1 that they didn't fit), but also now she waits outside my room so that I can model the next "style".

"Come out. Let me see how it does."

It was awful. The pants were HUGE in the waist ... too small in the caboose. But I put myself in front of this woman so that she, as a professional, would concur that Talbots has screwed up the entire line of size 10 pants. Just barely noticeable to the naked eye, I detect a cringe. I know what's coming. I can sense that what she is about to tell me, is going to hurt her almost as much as it will hurt me.

"Honey, I think we need to go up a size."

I really like how she said "we". It's as if *we* are in this together.

I’m indignant. "I don't understand though. I've lost ALL my pregnancy weight. How come up I need to go up a size?? I've always had plenty of room in a size 10. In fact, I could fit in a size 8!"

"Yes, but Honey, after a woman gives birth ... her body changes."

Yes. Obviously, I knew that. But I guess I didn't really understand what it meant, until right there ... under the bright fluorescent lights at Talbots. I found that it was especially hard to hear this news from a woman, even if she was 20-years older than me, that looked like she was no more than a size 4.

I begrudgingly go up a size. The pants fit. But, not in the waist. The saleswoman runs and gets me a belt. As luck would have it, my waist size is a 6. My caboose is a size 12. These measurements would be fine, in a Marilyn Monroe kind of way, had I been able to keep my size 40D's.

So much for my sultry pear shape. Ever since I've weaned the triplets, my big boobs have fled south and are apparently residing in my rear. I have assumed the proportions of a triangle.

I make my purchases at Talbots and head over to the shoe store. My feet are the only part of my body that has not drastically changed shape since the babies were born. As I was trying on shoes, my mind jumped back to this woman I had recently seen on TV. While she was pregnant with her son, one of her feet grew, while the other foot stayed the same. Following the birth of her son, the foot never shrank back to it's original size. So here was this poor woman that had to buy 2 pairs of the same exact shoe. One in a size 7, the other in a size 10. No kidding.

I was still dwelling on post-partum body dimensions during my semi-annual dentist visit on Thursday. I was given the good news that my gums, which bled like banshees during my last four cleanings, have healed up and look fabulous. Apparently, the hormonal surges during pregnancy and breastfeeding do a real number on your gums. I thought that was just a myth. Turns out, it's true. Just like that "myth" that a woman loses her body following the birth of her children. Who knew?

Charlie called tonight on his way home from the gym to tell me that he stopped by the store to pick up some diapers. I don't know why that comment struck me - but it did. Diapers. My husband had to pick up diapers. Because, we've got babies in the house that need them.

I feel pretty confident that like my gums, my figure will come back ... one day. In the meantime, I realize that had it not been for this disproportionate body of mine, Charlie wouldn’t have had a need to stop by the store on his way home from the gym. For diapers.