No room for shape wear in my life
It was our first post-baby date night nearly five years ago. With time to spare before our dinner reservation, we were kicked back in the hip understuffed chairs of our favorite coffee shop -- a luxury I hadn't experienced since the little one started sucking all the chill out of my days. Except that I wasn't... relaxed. I was taking shallow breaths and squirming to find any position that didn't make me wince. I excused myself to the restroom and came back a few sweaty minutes later with the flesh colored sausage-casing shapewear in my purse. In those few minutes I made the calculation: I could look lumpy or I could look miserable. Happy lumpiness won! And my husband said he couldn't tell the difference. Let's be frank. I am a big, fat girl, and no article of shapewear is going to disguise that. I don't actually need a disguise -- my body is not an arch villain trying to infiltrate a world of tight, smooth midsections. The early-2000s brought a surge...