The postpartum bridesmaid
Written by: Mindy July 24 2011 I mentioned in my […]
I mentioned in my last post that we went to a wedding. Outside. In Iowa. In the summer heat.
Chloe was barely 2 months old, so it was an adventure in itself traveling by air with her, almost-2-year-old Caden, two carseats, husband Cam, and luggage with enough changes of clothes for us all to allow for multiple spit-up incidents.
On top of all that, I was a bridesmaid. Normally, I’d have loved this role. But since I’d just given birth only eight weeks earlier, I was not exactly in prime condition.
The bride asked us bridesmaids to choose our own dresses, so you’d think I could have avoided being uncomfortable. Alas though, the color of the dress had to be bright fuschia, and there’s not a lot of selection for that.
I picked a dress based on nursing ease and comfort. It was lightweight cotton and wasn’t very fitted. I thought the looseness would camouflage my own loose areas. Great idea, right?
Nope. As it turned out, the bride surprised us maids the night before the wedding by asking us to do a dance routine while up at the altar (you know those Iowans and their show choirs… ).
Though I was certainly happy to oblige my friend, it was pretty much an awful experience.
Like I said, my dress was loose and light. It looked fine if I stood still with my shoulders back. But once the dancing commenced and things on my body starting flopping all over the place in ways they’ve never flopped before, the dress took a dive down my front and shared my nice lace bra with the crowd.
Worse yet, the summer heat and the bopping around made for quite the sweaty ceremony. I’m not usually one to sweat. I’m also not usually overweight. In this situation though, sweat was pooling in folds I never knew I had.
At least I can say I got through it. Do I want any copies of the pictures? Absolutely not. Am I ashamed of the way I looked? No … because I know I have a pass. It’s not like I let myself go, I just had a baby. Still, I think if I ever land in that situation again I’ll either spring for something marvelously fitted and concealing, or I’ll just politely decline the experience.