OK. Let's trrryyy...
Girl with well endowed trunk area.
Thee who hath no little middle.
That's me. Most of my life actually. Which makes we laugh that on facebook, on this blog or anywhere else where I have risked my well protected vanity, I have only posted pictures where...
a. I am thin
b. I look thin
c. I have a human shield blocking any fleshy part that can be construed as "flabby."
Oh why, oh why, do I bow down to an idol of vanity? I know I do it, I am aware when I am doing but I continue to do it. It matters way too much. But I think I know the answer just like you do...
It matters because I think it matters to everyone else too.
Oh we saaaaaay weight does not matter. But I would venture to say that people are all somewhat obsessed with any area that is more fleshy then we would like. I have heard people complain of fat ankles. Or a double chin. Or chubby knees. But I so wish it was not something I thought about as often as I do. I am 20 pounds heavier than I was when I got pregnant so that makes me constantly aware. I put a box of pre-pregnancy clothes in my bedroom thinking this would motivate me. What it motivates me to do is throw my 2 to 3 sizes larger clothes on top of the box.
So I decided to do some more confessin.' Keepin' it real. Giving you the scoop on what I think and what I do as I endeavor to be victorious in the battle of the bulge. Maybe not victorious. No, I think I am just admitting to you some unhealthy thinking and actions.
1. I have wished, prayed, and wanted to make "Mom Jeans" cool so I could just stuff my stomach in them and be done with it.
2. I sewed an extra button on a pair of pants the other day to make them bigger and more comfy. I think they are a size 10 when I probably need a size 12 with 25% spandex.
3. When I have been watching what I eat, journaling my meals and starving to death, I have grabbed things from the fridge and eaten them standing there with my big bum holding the door open. Then, I conveniently forget to write this little snack down and not counted them it in my daily calorie intake. And I seriously believe my own omission.
4. When friends lose weight and look fantastic, I become concerned for their sudden and very possible eating disorder affliction and pray they don't have a problem. I also make them lots of baked goods.
5. I have mastered the art of standing next to people in photos. Always someone on either side of me. If this is not possible, I make sure half of me is covered up. I make sure my arms are hidden behind other shoulders. And chin up. I will try to hold a child if at all possible.
6. I love having justifiable excuses in saying I have struggled with weight my whole life, that PCOS makes it hard to lose weight or maintain and ideal weight. What I don't love to tell people is that I can eat an entire carton of ice cream and not feel ill. I feel incomplete when I have to close the bag of chips or when the plate is empty of pie. And I obviously have no wise discernment between making the decision to consume the above mentioned food or a nice apple.
7. I actually run 3 miles a day. But that actually means I run 3 miles on the particular day I actually get my lazy bum on the treadmill or outside to do it.
8. I have weighed myself and attempted to alter the pounds by standing on one foot, having my feet hang halfway off the scale, jogged really fast in place before getting on, and last but not least...go to the bathroom and go back and weigh myself to see if I lost a few ounces. Pathetic.
9. I have chosen tops a size too small, examined its stitching to see how well made it is and then stretched it until it fit. It alllllways maintains its shape and looks exactly the way the designer intended. Seriously, all I care about is that I am wearing a medium instead of a large.
10. This is so sad. When Cati walks away from a snack or her plate she will turn around, point her finger at me and say, "Don't eat it. I 'm not done." I should really feel shame that I eat her food when she walks away from it. I really should. Especially since when I do it I tell myself that we are poor and I should not let it go to waste. Or that I am saving her from perishable food that has been sitting out for awhile...like 15 minutes. The poor girl will search the whole house for the last bite of a granola bar. And I actually get up and help her try to find it. Are any of you seriously questioning my eternal security right now?
Well there you have it. I needed to confess my fat girl dirty laundry.
Now are any of you willing to join me in this vanity obsession confession time? Please tell me I am not the only one.