Wednesday, July 1, 2009
"Look at your BIG BELLY, Mom!" is my loud morning greeting. Tink is smacking my belly playfully, laughing, and repeating her Big Belly comments as I lay semi-conscious in my bed at 6:45 this morning. Ah, just what I want to hear before my first cup of coffee. Or, like, ever.
Pinkalicious is on the other side of me, lifting up my T-shirt.
"EEEEWWWWW. What happened to your belly button, Mom?"
Since I was laying slightly to my side, the loose skin on my belly was all wrinkled up, resembling an elephant's knee and rendering my belly button a slit. This is what happens when you're a size 2 stick figure that then gives birth to 4 children. Though I have no stretch marks and have worked very hard to get (almost) back to my pre-baby weight and size, my tummy skin just hasn't bounced back. It's not noticable when I'm standing erect or laying suspine. But any other position is grotesque. Who cares, right? Riiiiiiiight. Not me... *sniff/sob/sigh*
Now that I'm feeling really hot and confident, I go to David's Bridal to try on and order my bridesmaid dress for my brother-in-law's wedding. I'm already feeling self-conscious at just being in the wedding party since the bride and her party are all in their early 20s and I'm like double their age with 4 children. Fortunately, the bridesmaid dress she selected is beautiful; the cut and color are flattering for me -and it's all about ME, of course.
I go into David's Bridal without children. I repeat WITHOUT children! Astonishing, I know. My husband had them over with him in another store so I could have a whole 24 minutes in peace. It is likely the only 24 minutes I will get for the next 2 or 3 months. I'm greatly appreciative not to have the peanut gallery with me in the dressing room after their 10 minutes of belly-belitting this morning.
The busy Saleslady helps me locate the dress. As we walk through racks of taffeta she does a quick visual body scan and reports her findings:
"Okay, it looks like you're a size 8, right?" which sounds more like a confident statement of fact than a question. She begins scouring the rack.
A size 8 is great. Wonderful. Perfect! I think that's what models wear, right? The only problem is this: I'm a size 4. Apparently, I appear double my size. So, it's not the NUMBER that she said... it's the fact that the number was two whole dress sizes off! Yes, I know there will be many who are rolling their eyes right now because of this complaint, but hey, NO ONE, no matter what their size, wants to appear 2 dress sizes bigger!!
I suck in my stomach, straighten my posture and make a mental assessment while not trying to appear offended. Okay, I'm sporting a peasant-style tank top and shorts. Those peasant tops can make you look pregnant sometimes. And my upper arms have always been my worst feature. No matter how thin I get, the upper arm just looks like a hunk of Gouda cheese giggling amorphously from my shoulder.
Crap. Now I'm politely telling her that usually I wear a size 4 and she seems mildly apologetic and perhaps it's my imagination, but I think she partially doesn't believe me. Now I'm back pedalling... Maybe a 6, should I try a 6? She pulls a 4 off the rack. Crap. If this doesn't fit me, I'm gonna feel like a giant ass. A deluded giant ass WITH a giant ass.
I go to the dressing room, slip on the dress and slowly zip the side zipper pleasefitpleasefitpleasefitpleasefit..... zzzzzziiiiiiippppppp - P.
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Ha! In fact, it needs a bit of taking in. Four kids, thousands of hours on the elliptical, forgoing chocolate and junk... and here I am. From a size 10/12 back to a 4. In your FACE David's Bridal Saleslady!!
I practially strut out in the gown. "Oh, it fits perfectly" she says looking mildly surprised. Yes it does lady. Yes. It. Does.
And once I rock my Spanx and push up bra, watch out! I might just actually LOOK like my true dress size. The Spanx are a necessity. Though I'm a size 4, I still have a mean muffin top.
That, plus the $20.00 discount and the 24 minutes of childless bliss... what more could a girl want?