Tag Archives: losing weight

Hey! My Jeans Don’t Fit. All Over Again.

With all the yoga, herbal supplements, meditation and mostly gluten free eating I’ve been trying lately to manage this silly panic/anxiety affliction I’ve acquired, I have some good news.

I’ve lost some weight.

And not just some weight. I’ve lost about 17 pounds. So far. (I’m optimistically counting on more. Trust me. I could stand a few more.) 

Whoo-hoo! Go Me!

That’s the good news.

The bad news? My clothes don’t fit. Again.

“But this is one of my favorite pairs,” I cry. “I can’t get rid of these.”

“Fine,” my husband says, “Look like a homeboy hangin’ out in the prison yard.”

He has a point.

jeansdiet

You’d think losing a little weight would be a good thing, right? An excuse to go shopping. Update the old wardrobe. But no. It’s not.

First of all, I’m cheap. In a good way. But cheap, all the same. I’m on a roll, without eating the rolls.  I’m planning on going down at least another size. I can’t afford to re-do my entire wardrobe. But until then, I need some clothes that don’t slide down past my hips, revealing my Calvin Kleins. I enter the dressing room, armed with a half dozen pairs of jeans.

One pair is too tight.

One pair is too loose.

One pair is dragging on the ground or cutting me in the crotch or too loose around the thighs but fine everywhere else.

There is only one common denominator. Wait. Make that two common denominators.

1.) They are all the same size.

And…

2.) None of them are just right.

So I walked out of the store with nothing. Just my baggy ol’ pants that look like I borrowed them from my husband. Or my cellmate.

How could all the same size of the same style of clothing give such different results on the new, thinner me?

We are bombarded with print ads showing us how we should look. We compare ourselves to the other moms at the neighborhood pool. We criticize what we see in the mirror, no matter what size.

I was convinced if I went down a size (which I have) I’d be happier. I’d look so much better and I’d feel fantastic.

I am happy. I do look better. But I don’t feel fantastic.

I don’t know about you, but I need to feel good in my clothes. I want them to be comfortable and I’d like to think they are flattering. But those outfits are too far and few between. I may have lost the weight, but I haven’t lost my critical self. And it’s depressing to think that no matter what the size, I may never feel satisfied.

But all the criticizing in the world doesn’t make up for the fact that much of what is out there is just plain unpredictable and uncomfortable. I admit. I’m not much of a shopper. But is it too much to ask that a size X be a size X and fit like all the other size X’s out there?

Is it?

Apparently, it is.

Ah well. Just another excuse to go shopping again.

Anyone want to come with?

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Filed under How We Roll, Observations

One Little Phrase Is All It Takes To Steal My Thunder

I had a check-up this morning. The female kind. And I was dreading it.

I’m the kind of gal that thinks ignorance is bliss. I hate the necessary poking and prodding it takes to stay healthy. What do I hate worse? The dreaded weigh-in.

Pregnant at 40, my midwife warned me that at my advanced age it would be tough to lose the baby weight. I didn’t believe her. I’d never struggled with weight issues before. In fact, I was underweight for most of my teens and 20s.

Rude awakening #1.

I have struggled and struggled and all but given up on getting back to my pre-baby weight. A weight that I wasn’t that happy with to begin with. But lately, with increased devotion to my yoga and small dietary changes (very small changes because I love to cook and I adore my Coca-Cola) I have slowly, very slowly started to melt some pounds. Yes. Pounds. As in plural. And, and this is a big “and,” it has stayed off. No yo-yo-ing this time for me.

I dreaded stepping onto that scale today, though. I don’t weigh myself at home. I use my clothes as a judge. And I am so self-defeating, the tiny changes I’ve noticed I’ve attributed to: designers creating vanity sizes, drying my clothes on a lower setting, stretching out my jeans.

As I tentatively stepped onto the scale, I sucked in my breath, as if that would create some kind of weightless vacuum.

“You’ve lost another four pounds since September,” the nurse said cheerily.

Did I hear her right? More weight? Gone?

Woo hoo!

This is the second weigh-in when I’ve lost weight. Two doctor visits in a row. And I’m losing. Not gaining. Not even staying the same.

But that can’t be. I cooked like a demon during Thanksgiving. Publix has had buy-one-get-one ice cream for the past 3 weeks. My birthday was this past weekend and I didn’t hold back. Cake. Ice cream. Meals out. All weekend.

I cheer. Out loud. The nurse smiles.

“But you don’t understand,” I say, “I’ve been struggling for 8 years to not only lose weight but keep it off. It’s finally working!”

She smiles again and starts rattling off instructions: take off clothes, gown opens in front, something about a sheet to cover up. But I barely hear her. I’m singing inside.

“Celebrate good times! C’mon”

“I am beautiful. In every single way.”

“It’s going to be a great day!”

The doctor comes in. I barely hear her commands. I’m grinning from ear to ear. Until…

“Do you perform regular breast exams?”

Pretty much. At least every other month.

“Well, do you feel this mass here?”

She guides my hand to the spot.

“I just want to rule anything out. So, I’m going to order a diagnostic mammogram just to be sure it isn’t anything to worry about.”

Pffffft.

Rude awakening #2

The wind was just sucked out from under me.

Rule anything out. Be sure it isn’t anything to worry about. Huh?

Didn’t she hear? I just lost and kept off 4 more pounds. I was having a fabulous day. Ok, fabulous last 15 minutes.

Did she really have to steal my thunder?

Sigh.

This sucks.

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Filed under Lessons Learned, Observations