Today I ordered myself a Belly Bandit. Well, I actually ordered two Belly Bandits, because you’re supposed to wear it for 6-8 weeks postpartum and if the thing works (AND IT BETTER), then I should go down a size during that period of time.
I followed the instructions and referred to the sizing chart and felt somewhat surprised that my stomach is only 46 inches around at the widest point. It feels more like 66, but I measured it twice. Anyway … after much internet research I finally decided that it would be worth the money to compress my midsection with some kind of garment after this baby arrives. It is, after all, my third. There is no telling what kind of wreckage I will be left with.
The website annoys me because — for starters — do I look anything like this girl? NO. Also, the people in the “testimonial” section look like half-starved models, not normal people like me with cellulite. But it’s okay … we’ll all know in a few months whether or not I just wasted $100 of Husband’s hard-earned money on compression garments.
In my fantasy world, I imagine him getting all pumped up after selling a car and telling his co-workers “YES!! Now Harmony can afford to get her spider veins zapped off!” Or, “YES!! Now Harmony can go to the spa!” Or like today, in my fantasy world, he will say to someone “I am so glad I’m having a good month so Harmony could buy not ONE but TWO Belly Bandits!”
I know this isn’t what happens. But I would love to hear Husband say “compression garment.” Just once.