My body is a moving object.

I was eleven when my brother started kindergarten.  My mother volunteered for some class activity and when I got home from school that day, she was crying.  I asked if she was okay and she explained that she heard one of my brother's classmates say, "Wow, Ken, your mom is FAT!"  Even now, nearly twenty-five years later, that memory stings enough to bring tears to my eyes.  I remember my mom telling me this was why I had to lose weight: she didn't want me to go through the same things she had to go through.

But I gained weight, and gained weight.  My weight steadily grew until I had gastric bypass surgery at the age of 28.  And then my weight dropped.  I went from hating my body to being bewildered by it.  This is what I looked like with less fat?  There were hip bones under there?  I had a collarbone that could show itself?  What would I look like if I didn't have all this excess skin now?  Why had I let myself irreparably damage my body by getting so fat that my skin wouldn't shrink back?  So then, at 30, I had plastic surgery and had some parts nipped and tucked, and that helped - but then weight slowly crept back on over the next four years.  And then I got pregnant and gained only 10 pounds in those 40 weeks.  Then I gave birth and, in the following six months, lost the 10 pregnancy pounds plus another twenty-five without really trying (I thank the thyroid medication I'm on).

But what this means in reality is that my body is a moving object.  I can't put a finger on it because it won't stay still.  Its shape won't stay.  I have absolutely no reference point for what my body's "norm" is.  Since giving birth, my hips have gotten (seemingly permanently) wider but my already reduced and lifted breasts have gotten a bit smaller (no complaints about that).

So what's happened? I no longer think about myself as any body type.  When I was fat, I identified as fat.  When I was thin, I identified as a former fattie.  It was a part of who I am that I knew I couldn't shake.  Now?  Now I cognitively recognize that I am overweight (technically obese) but I don't feel like it.  It's like my mind has simply given up trying to categorize the body that carries it around.  It's been quite freeing; I feel better about my body now than I did at some points when I weighed 35 pounds less than I do now (near my lowest adult weight).

So I was snapped out of a seeming fog when at a deli the other day, as I was buying a soda, a bag of pretzels, a candy bar, and a pack of gum, the cashier asked me, "Is that all for you or is someone else in the car?"

Immediately I was seven years old again, being told I looked like a fat lollipop in my new dress.  I was nine years old, being told I shouldn't tuck my shirt in because fat people don't look good when they do that.  I was eleven, watching my mother cry about hearing a five year old say she was fat.  I was fourteen with spitballs in my hair and tacks on my chair.  I was seventeen, wondering if anyone would ever be generous enough to love me despite my appearance.  I was nineteen, being called, "FATTIE!" by a passing car of guys in front of my friends.  I came rushing back into myself, filling up the body that I can't even get a hold of anymore.

And then?  I lied.  "Yes," I said, "My husband is in the car."

Why did I do that?  I can eat a damn bag of chips and candy bar if I want to.  Instead of instantly feeling ashamed, I should have been pissed off that this guy felt he had the right to ask me that.  But all it takes is one question to make me feel like I gained a hundred pounds in an instant, like I went from the real Gwyneth Paltrow to the Fat Suit Gwyneth in Shallow Hal.  It's those moments that I realize my growth hasn't been as full as it sometimes seems.

Tori Amos used to sell t-shirts that said "Recovering Catholic".  I should have a "Recovering Fattie" shirt, even though I'd never wear it and most people wouldn't understand how someone still fat could be a recovering fattie.  But that's how I feel.

And, so, here I am and here's my body.  I don't know exactly how to describe it, but I do finally feel like I own it, even when a short question sends me reeling.

These two things, however, I do know:

1. I like who I am and that will never again be dependent upon my body size.

2. That deli has lost my business.

This post is an entry for the Living Out Loud project.  This month’s theme was “It. Was. Awful!”.  If you’d like to take part in future projects, click here!

The universe's balancing act

I may not have a strict belief in a higher power, but I do believe there are forces and actions that equal things out.  I know this viewpoint comes from a place of privilege, but it is how I've experienced the world.

So when I found myself recently bitter about all of the hoopla over a coworker's baby shower, I sat and tried to think about why this inequality occurred.  My family threw me a fantastic baby shower that I loved every minute of.  And I did have two small baby showers at work - one at the campus I work at and one with my base department (the members of which are spread out over several campuses).  Both showers had about five people at them.  The one at the campus I work at was very clearly thrown together at the last minute and involved no planning.  There was a cake and a baby store gift card (which, don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciated) - but there wasn't a reserved room on campus, there were no decorations, diaper towers, huge gifts, ballooons, or baby shower plates and cups, and the entire campus administrative staff certainly did not receive an email from the campus chief operating officer about a fake mandatory meeting that would be the cover for the shower, much less three other reminder emails.

I can only guess this was because most of my coworkers didn't realize I was pregnant unless I told them.  At the staff meeting two weeks before my last day, I mentioned it'd be my last meeting until September and was met with half a room of, "Why???"  "Uh, because I'm pregnant?"  "Oh, congratulations!  When are you due?"  "Two weeks, roughly."  "What?!  Where is that baby?" as I mumbled for what felt like the hundredth time, "Yeah, I know, I haven't gained much weight, but he's in there!"

It's not like I feel cheated, really (because that would seem unattractively materialistic to me) and it's not that I'm such good friends with my coworkers that my feelings are hurt (although I am feeling a little undervalued).  It's just that it was another episode where having a pregnancy that didn't fit "the norm" had me feeling left out of this universal experience.

No one would mistake my coworker for anything but 8 or 9 months pregnant.  Turns out she is 8 months pregnant but she does look near term, so I heard a few, "So, how many you got in there? Two? Three?" comments - which, really, are no better than my, "Wait, you're pregnant? Where is he?" comments as my belly got stared at.

If there's anything I learned in pregnancy, it's that it's a unique experience.  No two pregnancies (even in the same woman) are the same.  And we're all different, so why shouldn't our gestations be different?

In the end, I'm still happy to have had the pregnancy I did.  Sure, I missed out on some very typical, standard pregnancy experiences, but in the end I benefited by having a "small" pregnancy.  I lost my pregnancy weight by the time I came home from the hospital.  Since then I've lost an additional 25 pounds.  I didn't have to deal with people telling me to watch my weight during my pregnancy, like I had been told my whole life.  Basically, I had the pregnancy that was best for me.  It might not have been made for inducing people into throwing huge baby showers because I was waddling around for months, but it made me happy.  It was my pregnancy.  I don't do much in the same way that everyone else does, so why would I do this the same way as someone else?

We have to cherish our bodies and the amazing things they do - and honor other people's bodies, as well.  I attended that baby shower and wished my coworker well and pointed out how useful certain things were that she received.  And I'm glad she has all that support and good cheer from our coworkers.  I always have to remind myself that we don't know other people's stories.  Who knows how much this meant to her?  Maybe it meant nothing, who knows - but she seemed genuinely happy and grateful.  And the more happy pregnant women there are, the better.

Monday Five Countdown

I liked this last week (and a few of you did, too!) so I'm doing it again... same starts, different finishes:

Five Things I'm Grateful For

1. My health.  I had an at-work check-up last week and my bloodwork came back fantastic.  My blood, apparently, is in great shape.  (My rear end, on the other hand... ha.)  It feels good to know that the little efforts I make to eat well (eating fruits and veggies every day, whole grains over white flour based pasta and breads most of the time) do make a difference.  I also got to tell the flu shot lady at work that, no, I do not want the flu shot because I've never had the flu so I'm not about to start getting a shot for it now, thankyouverymuch.

2. My family.  We went to a family birthday party yesterday and it was really great to see everyone happy and relaxed and having a good time.

3. Nate.  (I have a feeling he'll be on this list every week.)  He's just a joy.  I said to the hubby this morning it's like he's just bursting with sunshine and happiness.  He's SO happy that he just has to smile and squeal and jump all day - and I love it.

4. A clean porch.  Our landlord came to take the last of his parents' things off our porch so our porch is now cleared for sitting.  There's major construction going on outside our house this week, but they're supposed to be done by the end of the week so maybe next weekend I'll have my coffee on the porch and watch the cars go by.

5. My job. It's going to run me ragged this week, but I'm very happy to have it, to be steadily and securely employed - and to have a bonus check coming to me at the end of the week (which we need to actually make our bills this month).

Four Things I Can't Stop Thinking About

1. The bills. They're eating away at my brain.  I have two more partial paychecks left and then I'll be back to full pay and we'll be slightly more above water than we are right now.

2. My car.  However - my car is still being a pain! I just had $650 worth of work done AND took it for an oil change/tire rotation/overall checkup this weekend - and the check engine light came on again yesterday!!  I know we're going to need to get a new family car soon, but with the money/bills being what they are right now, we can't, so every day I'm just hoping my car hangs in there a bit longer.

3. Buster.  Remember Buster, our insane terrier puppy we got earlier this year?  Well, we dropped him off at my in-laws the day before Nate was born so they could watch him that week... and that just stretched out because then it was just too much with the baby at home... and then we were packing... and then we were moving... and now we're unpacking... but once we're unpacked, Buster will have to rejoin the fold and I am very, very nervous about it.  He's still crazy and hyper and not very trained, so we're going to have to nearly start from scratch with him.  Plus take care of Nate.  Plus maintain our new home.  Oy.  I don't even want to be thinking about this but I think about it ALL THE TIME.

4. My schedule this week.  I have so many in-class visits to do this week that I'm completely paranoid about missing one.

Three Things I Want To Accomplish This Week

1. More unpacking.  We're getting there, but it's slowing because the easier stuff has been done.

2. Vacuum the living room.  This is hard to accomplish because I can't do it when Nate's sleeping but I also can't do it when he's nearby because the vacuum makes him cry.  So maybe I'll try it tomorrow before Kate leaves.  She can hold him nearby while I quickly vacuum so he can start to get used to it.

3. I MUST buy a birthday gift for my niece, Brooke.  She's going to be one this Saturday!  I can't believe it's gone so quickly.  I was actually out of state on a trip for work when she was born and will never forget sitting in the hotel lobby when my mom called and going, "IT'S A GIRL?! OH MY GOD, YAY!!" so loud that people looked at me.  (We were convinced she was having another boy.)

(Note: I was also out of town for a conference when TJ, my nephew, was born. It became a joke that I would probably be out of town for Nate's birth, ha.)

Two Things I Am Working To Be Positive About

1. Maintaining the cleanliness of our home.  It was hard to keep our old place clean. Everything was so tight and crammed and jammed and packed in. It was hard to even do anything, much less clean up after doing anything. But I'm noticing that we're having an easier time keeping up here already. The hubby cooked chicken the other day and actually cleaned up as he went along!  This hasn't happened in nearly two years!  I could have cried, I was so happy.  So I'm realizing that our space was actually inhibiting our ability to maintain that space - and so I'm really feeling positive that we will be able to create and maintain new cleaning habits here and set a good example for Nate.

2. Buster.  Yes, I'm thinking so much about him that he gets to be on here twice.  To be frank, Buster needs to be in a home with a family who has time to train him and take him on long walks and give him a yard to run around in.  That is not entirely us.  However, he is our dog and our responsibility and I feel that we owe it to him to do the absolute best we can - and so we will.  He'll be a year old in two weeks, and so he's growing up and, hopefully, (hopefully!!!) is maturing and will take well to the training and exercise we can provide so that we can integrate him into our family as the balanced dog we need him to be (as Cesar would say).

(Btw, can I just add that what I really want is for Cesar to come and train Buster?)

One Random Thing

1. I think I have lost enough weight that I might be able to do some shopping at NY&Co again.  However, I have absolutely NO money for shopping.  Wah, wah.  But just thinking it's possible - and if not yet, then very close - feels really good.

What's going on with your five for today?

Dealing With Post-Pregnancy

Many women are used to living in bodies that are outside the perceived “norm” (if we want to avoid even trying to define what the “norm” is anyway).  But there are times when our bodies seem to intersect.

For example, it’s generally assumed that all brides will try to lose weight.  It’s just the accepted norm, in my experience.  If I had a friend or coworker getting married, she was probably talking about her diet and the boot camp classes at her gym.  I didn’t do that, though.  Actually, I had to exchange my wedding dress for the next larger size a couple of months before the wedding because I had gained weight since buying it.  I didn’t try to gain weight, but I was stressed due to graduate school and I’m a stress eater.  But that’s a different discussion.

Weddings are one of those experiences where people sometimes have behavioral and physical expectations of others.  Another one of those experiences?  Pregnancy.

It seems fairly simple, right?  A woman gets pregnant, the baby grows, the woman gains weight, her shape changes, and so on.  We’re all roughly familiar with the expectations of the process.  If you read enough articles or blogs written by pregnant or formerly pregnant women, you also learn that people feel free to comment (often!) about the size of a pregnant woman’s belly.

Even that, in a way, is the norm.  But that wasn’t my experience and, even now as my son nears three months of age, I’m still trying to fully process my pregnancy experience.

I didn’t have the big belly.  I’ve been overweight or obese most of my life, yet during pregnancy, I didn’t gain much weight.  By the time I went in to give birth, I had gained 10 pounds.  My son weighed 8 pounds, so I was back at my pre-birth weight before I even came home from the hospital.  I was healthy throughout the pregnancy and my son is perfectly healthy, so it’s not that anything was wrong – but by the reactions of people throughout my pregnancy, you might think so.

Read the rest here...

What happened to my girls?

Warning: this post is about boobs.  Wanna read about boobs?  Then keep on goin'...

source

As I've mentioned a few times before (especially in regards to breastfeeding), I had a breast reduction/lift when I was 30.  Before the surgery, I was a DDD, albeit a slightly deflated one due to some weight loss.  But when I lost weight, I never really lost much from my boobs.

When I went in for the surgery, my surgeon told me I would end up being a large C.  This sounded magical to me.  It never happened, though.  I ended up being a D cup and that was fine by me.  They always fit my frame and because they were lifted, I could find bras that fit (although, like most other women, it still wasn't easy to find those elusive bras that truly fit just right).

When I got pregnant, I thought, "Oh well, there goes the work I had done." But, interestingly, my bra size didn't change.  I didn't have to buy any new or special bras.  But in a way I did because the ones I owned were all dying.  I didn't buy new ones because I assumed I'd have to due to a size increase at some point, but it never happened.

So after Nate was born, it was time to buy some new bras.  My size hadn't changed so I ordered some online and that was that.  They were delivered and were really pretty and I was happy.

Until I realized they were fitting oddly.  The cups were gaping.  I could fit my hand inside the cup with my boob in there.  I thought, "Okay.  That's new."

So on a hunch I went shopping and tried on a C cup... and it fit.  Perfectly.

So let me get this straight.  My boobs did not grow during pregnancy but still went through the post-pregnancy shrinkage, even though my milk didn't come in?

What?

But, yeah.  Such is the case.  I'm actually not upset about this; really I'm just surprised, and kind of amused.

So if anyone finds a lost cup size wandering around, don't worry about it; I'm okay.