The plan was to wear a dress today. I have a thing I get to do after work and I wanted to dress up a bit. When I first bought the dress, I loved the way it skimmed my hips and held my curves in front and back. It hugged me and I wasn’t wearing that dress nearly as much as it wore me. It has large flowers in black and red and white and the red matches my favorite lipstick perfectly. It’s not super short and ends just above the tattoo on my thigh. I felt so sexy and confident in it. It was perfect for today.
I laid it out last night with my favorite black pumps. After my shower I tried it on. I’m too small for it. The dress is the same but it doesn’t fit anymore. What felt sexy is now silly with material to pinch instead of my softer marshmallow fluff. I miss my fluffy bits. It felt like being a kid in my Mom’s shoes, but when I looked in the mirror, I was missing her grace and beauty. In a panic I reached for my stand by little black dress and it is a size larger than the one I planned to wear.
I’m not dieting. There is no exercise happening for my body. It’s not intentional at all. It’s a shift in how I eat. The idea of my not eating something that tastes good and feels good is insane to me. My food choices are epicurean in taste as well as sensory satisfaction. I love food. I know, it seems like something most people can get behind, but I really sincerely love food. I love tastes and textures. I love food combinations and unexpected nuance. Throw fresh mango in my California Roll. Add bleu cheese and fresh rosemary to my sweet potato fries. Under the right conditions, a bite of heaven can sound like it needs an adult rating from me. I’ve changed. I’m still changing.
Some changes happen quickly. It’s amazing how a uterus shrinks as soon as it’s emptied after pregnancy. In the hours after giving birth, I was able to push a fist through my stomach. The right and left halves of abdominal muscles split during pregnancy, to give room for that baby bump. It means there was a huge gap that I had fun poking into where I was squishy and soft and it was immediate. My body shifted in concert, but not uniformly.
Some changes are more gradual. I was a larger woman two years ago. I was probably even growing. My favorite midnight snack was a can of Campbell’s Chunky soup with a fist full of shredded cheddar on top of another fist of French Fried Onions. I eat when I’m hungry now, and skip meals when I’m not. My eating habits have changed. I don’t like being so full I can’t do more than sit and digest, and waiting five minutes for more room isn’t a habit anymore. The proof is in the shrinking of my body. It started with jeans that needed a belt to stay up. I shrunk enough to need new jeans and it’s happened again, but now I need to find a new little black dress and bikini and the idea stresses me out. I hate shopping for clothes. I know, I don’t deserve the breasts I was born with. I’ve gained confidence where I was only insecure before. That’s a plus, but there is space I wasn’t prepared for in the shifting of my body away from clothes that fit and felt terrific before.
I’m in a pair of slacks in a boring color because I wasn’t thinking of how sexy feels when I bought the suit a couple of months ago. It fits but it doesn’t make me feel like a lioness on the prowl for a bite and conquest. It feels like what I felt when I bought it but even my personality has shifted enough that it’s not working for me anymore. There is space in shifting who I am and where I belong and while the old was familiar and comfortable, it doesn’t fit and makes me look ridiculous. I can try to put on the past but it falls around me in excess and I’m looking for a way to make things fit when they can’t. It’s time to give away the old and look for the new.