I wore a pair of my pre-prego Wranglers! And I didn't even have to do the shimmy, shake and wiggle to get them on!
Winning!
Oh, but the story gets better. I went to Old Navy, looking for jeans, and I bought size 10's! I thought I was definitely a size 12, but after fitting into my Wranglers, I decided to try on a 10 and a 12. I put on the size 10's first, thinking that they would be uncomfortably tight, but I slipped those suckers right on! They fit so perfectly that I didn't even bother with the 12's! Whoo-hoo! High fives all around!
It's amazing what power that number on the tag of our clothes holds over some of us. Yes, I confess, it's a big deal to me. I don't care whether someone thinks that's ridiculous or not, I have felt that way for as long as I can remember. I have been a size 8 or 10 for most of my life. When I was heavy, I was a 12, and post-pregnancy I was squeezing into a 14 when I should have put on a 16. But, I just couldn't bring myself to pay money for something with the number 16 on it. I refused to accept that I was a size 16, certain that admitting such would ruin any self-worth I still had at that point.
However, I'm learning to accept certain things. Things like being back at my pre-pregnancy weight, but having a waist that's 2 inches bigger than it used to be. I think the fat fell out of my tatas and into my middle. I'm also accepting the fact that I still have a kangaroo pouch and it seems to be here to stay. C'est la vie. And things like not being able to carve any time out of my day for vigorous exercise. I miss that, I really do. I love getting my sweat on and now, I just can't find the time or the energy. When I was a self-righteous twenty-something and moms would tell me that they just didn't have time to exercise, I would always think, "No, you just don't want it bad enough. You choose to not exercise." I still believe that to be partly true; you do have to want it and make a conscious effort, but I find myself saying, "I don't have time!" And it is completely true, not that I like admitting it. I'm hoping that as Rocco gets older, I will be able to find a little more time in my day. This is a fantasy of mine, please don't ruin it by telling me it will never happen. Just play along and tell me it will all work out. Thank you. Now give me a hug!
Becoming a parent changes everything in your life. Yes, I knew this before I got pregnant and no, I'm not complaining. You have to be prepared to give up everything that you call your own and put the needs if a tiny child first. And you still have to do it when you're tired or frustrated. I had this naive idea that I would still be able to get everything on my to-do list done each day. Apparently, I am not one of "those" women. My threshold for getting things done has dropped significantly in the last 4 1/2 months. Now, my daily to-do list is a weekly to-do list. And sometimes, what was on last week's to-do list, somehow sneaks onto this week's list. I don't even know how that happens.
Along with my opinion about my body, my definition of having a clean house is changing as we have become overrun with swings and play gyms and junperoos and high chairs and bottles and baby food and more laundry. I did four loads of laundry last Friday and the fact that I actually got all of the clean clothes put away made me feel like I'd achieved success. If you have ever seen my OCD in action, you would know that accepting and living with all of that is a real fete for me. Those OCD tendencies of wanting to be completely and perfectly organized still try to sneak in, but I find their voices to be a little quieter and at the end of the day, as long as the dishes are clean and the trash isn't overflowing, I suppose I can live with the clutter. As long as we don't have company. And as long as we have a sweet, precious little boy who makes it all worth it. I wouldn't trade him for a perfectly clean house or size 8 jeans!
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