Saturday, November 5, 2011

I Hope She's Bringing Sexy Back

I'll admit it, I'm a man with body issues.  I'm tall and "thin" but I by no means have a perfect body.  I don't have a muscular chest and my stomach has a pouch and you can see like two of my abs but the rest have fat over them, blah, blah, blah.  I mean, I look alright, but I'm no Channing Tatum.

My wife however, perfect body (her personality is cool too, whatever, that's not what I'm talking about right now) and she's had a perfect body her whole life.  She was one of those assholes running around with a six pack when she was like seven.  I hated (OK, to be honest, still kinda hate) those kids when I was a pale, chubby douche.

And when she got pregnant and started to show of course she looked so cute AND her boobs got huge, so she still looked awesome!

Then, after our son was born, I finally got my revenge.

I had been working out throughout her pregnancy as I'm known to do.  And since my drankin' patna was pregnant I had scaled back on the weekend binges (not fully of course, I still gotz to get mah drink on) so I was pretty fit relatively speaking for me.

But she was not happy with her war torn physique.  She had gone through over twenty hours of labor which had ended in a necessary cesarean section and her recovery time was going to be longer than a vaginal birth, plus you need some recovery time after giving any sort of birth ya know what I mean?

What I'm saying is she was not back in the gym the next day after a baby was surgically removed from her gullet.  In fact, she's not much for the gym anyway, she was naturally fit and did cheerleading and all that her whole life so she's never had to work out to stay sexy.  As Fergie would say, she wasn't 'all up in the gym working on her fitness' on a regular basis.

She finally felt self conscious about her body.  Yes!  Now she knows how I feel every day.  And she hated it and it made her feel bad... good.  Well, not good, but now we can relate about that struggle, so something positive has come from it.

But alas the final joke is on me.  Our son is now about to be five months old and Mrs. L. Huber is back in her pre-pregnancy jeans.  Damn it.  She's looking fine and all she had to do was keep eating exactly anything she wanted as always (and bust her ass working as a teacher, but whatever).

Eh, but at least I get to have sex with that body, I uh, I mean her and her wonderful personality traits and everything else I love about her.

Whew, good save, wait, why am I typing this?  And this?  And this?

And this?

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