09/07/2012 02:24 pm ET Updated Nov 07, 2012

McNuggets of Wisdom for New Moms

I reluctantly grabbed the fat jeans out of the back of my closet. Any girl who's ever been overweight knows to NEVER throw out the fat clothes. Its a slippery slope to skinny, and discarding clothes you've outgrown is just tempting the fat gods to slather you with their lard wands. These particular fat jeans are the ones I wore while at my biggest size, after the birth of my second daughter.

I'd been wearing my maternity clothes since I was just a few minutes pregnant, so I'd grown pretty sick of them and the fat jeans seemed like a better option. Talk about being stuck between a big and a fat place!

I sighed as I pulled them out of the closet and began to get dressed. My family was waiting for me downstairs. It had been two weeks since I'd had my third baby, and my husband decided that we needed to take a family trip to a local carnival. Really? As if we weren't hosting our own circus right at home. However, I agreed to go, well, because of the food.

So, I pulled on my big girl jeans. What? What? What? Holy Hell. Jenny Craig, we have a problem! I screamed "NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" to the highest heavens. My jeans were stuck at about mid-thigh and no amount of pulling was going to bring them up to their proper place. I pulled and pulled until I fell over. Damnit, I tripped on my own fat.

Ok, breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. The baby is only two weeks old. Oh, who was I kidding? Two weeks or two years -- what difference did it make? Fat is fat and my biggest jeans didn't fit.

At this point I was in no shape to go to a carnival. I was in no shape to go anywhere. So, I sent the family, minus the baby, off without me. With tears and all the conviction that my hormonal postpartum self could muster, I vowed that I was never eating again. EVER.

That lasted about two hours.

I got so hungry that I found myself sitting in my minivan eating nuggets and a large fry. After my feast of trans fats, I drove myself home in a minivan that now reeked of fast food and failure. Then it hit me! I knew what I needed to do. The answer was so simple. The answer was sweatpants.