Total denial is my main focus this week. I refuse to purchase the correct size pants for my "new body," to fit into. When I was pregnant it was fine, I just stuck with the same pants because they nestled underneath my bump so I couldn't see any reason for others. But now, now this new mum body (*screams in terror*) just isn't playing ball with the size I'm happy with purchasing. This whole body image issue is not a new one, in fact, it's my oldest, plumpest, fiend. Generally, ignorance is bliss, because it's Winter time, and I'm covered up every. Single. Minute. Other than blindly showering, pretending my hands are not falling over the reality of the situation, covered in sudds. But, when I wear dungarees (and feel like I'm exuding the image of the mum I always wanted to be) my pants just fall down! What the hell is that? It's like the whole half on, half off, sock predicament: when you've got wellies on, and no matter how hard you try to adjust and wriggle toes, to re - fashion the foot garment, the mini hosiery remains flaccid and and about as warm as a fan on a cool day. You would think having side access into the denim, one - piece, would assist in a hoiking - up option, but, one hoik will not suffice and more than three in five minutes and people start to stare. About a month ago now, I walked home from town, with no less than gale force winds attacking this fashion faux pas of mine. I honestly thought I was in one of those "naked dreams," and was certain strangers were judging me for my commando approach to motherhood. But instead of risking my embarrassment, and keeping schtum then, I've potentially chosen to publish this to the whole world, now... Hey, if falling down knickers isn't the epitome of the keeping - it - real #mumlife, then I don't know what is. P.s. I still refuse to buy new pants so chances are, if you're talking to me, my pants are not fulfilling their role.