Sponsored post ahoy! In which I talk about my underthings for money. What? Weird? A little? Whatever, there's free stuff for you at the end, so we can all be weird together. Mmmmm, creepy.
My relationship with lingerie is...complicated.
On the one hand, I am a 34-year-old woman who has been pregnant three times. Then hacked open for childbirth three times. I have breastfed three babies and eaten more than my fair share of leftover Halloween candy. I've fallen off the exercise wagon so many times I think it's circled back around and run me over, just for kicks. I am currently at my heaviest non-pregnancy weight, which is also technically slightly more than I weighed at nine months pregnant with Ike, thanks to an extended, shameful holiday love affair with ALL THE BAKED CARB-Y THINGS.
Forget stressing about being naked and/or scantily clad -- these days, I spend enough time trying to look sufficiently non-muffin-topped and saggy while fully dressed. Stretch marks and cellulite? I can't even. I will deal with you later.
(STRETCH MARKS: No worries! We'll still be here when you're ready.)
(CELLULITE: Yep, totes not going anywhere either.)
On the other hand:
I have an awful lot of lingerie. That's a good-sized drawer there, chock full of nighties and see-through naughty frippery. That's a double-decker lingerie collection, collected over the years for anniversaries and Valentine's Days and vacations. Or for extra special occasions, like Going Up Two Cup Sizes From Breastfeeding or WE'RE IN A HOTEL WITH NO CHILDREN HOLY CRAP PARTY.
That photo actually shows the drawer post-organizing-purge, since I recently sat down and went through multiple dozens of lacy silky things in order to edit it all down to a reasonable, well-fitting, non-tacky level. (I used to get the Frederick's of Hollywood catalog in my early 20s, yes. Nothing like one-size-fits-all bras that shed synthetic feathers all over the place, amirite, ladies?)
At the very bottom of the drawer, I found the lingerie I wore on my honeymoon, almost 14 years ago. And oh, did it all ever make me laugh. Not just the small tag size, but the fact that it was all so...modest. And tame! I was 20 years old and had a butt the size of a postage stamp and a stomach so flat it was practically concave, but I spent my honeymoon more covered up than I usually am on a typical Sunday morning around the house, in front of the kids.
Compared to the plunging/push-up/see-through numbers I've since worn while pregnant, nursing or rocking extra pounds of baby weight, those first little purchases are dripping with old insecurities about how I looked. My boobs were too small, my thighs were too wide, my upper arms were too soft. I didn't really have a good grasp on what "sexy" was, but I remember I definitely thought I was not it.
I was tempted to hold on to all that stuff, for sentimental reasons, but ultimately tossed most of it in the donate pile. I'd rather make room for things that fit me, now.
This post was sponsored by Eberjey. Guess what they sell. Guess! Go check them out, then leave a comment here with your favorite item for a chance to win it. (I'm quite partial to the uber-flattering Ingrid chemise, though no, I will not model it for you. You'll just have to take my word for it.) I'll choose a comment at random next week, on 3/14/12. Can't wait that long? Get 15% off your order of lovely things with code AMALAH15 (expires 4/1/12).