The Glamourous Life

photo credits: scottdamgaard.com

There used to be a time when I was no holds barred cute. Not a knock out, not a hot babe, but on a scale of 1-10 I was running a 7. A New England 7, sometimes an 8. I was a New York 5, a Chicago 6. In warmer weather cities likely a 4, but if I lived there long enough, I'd have worked out into a serviceable 6.

I had long dark thick hair, a relatively trim figure. relatively? Sigh. I was 122lbs until I was 33 so yeh, I was trim. And clothes? again. Cute. The standard jeans and cute top. I didn't have the moxy for halters, the hootspah for hoochie but throw me out into any random bar and I got the sleeper / value buy / sexy librarian vote virtually every time.

Then I got involved with my ex, and added about 5lbs of hell to my life that I never "really" shook, then I got lethargic, then I got pregnant.

And after Ellie never lost "all" the weight. Oh I came close. One fine morning I broke 130 but it was fleeting. And faded. Fast.

And it wasn't just the weight either. My hair texture changed. It's curlier, courser. So I cut it, and it's lost it's way completely. I tried overcoming vanity. I dressed Ellie first then myself. I have 2 pairs of jeans, the rest too small, a promise I made to myself but couldn't keep. In my closet bins are the 4s. The 6s were prepregnancy. The 8's immediately after. But my 8s became my 6s and the sexy stopped.

Oh that's not to say I think you have to be thin to be sexy. In fact, everyone who knows me, husband included, by far knows I prefer, in terms of sexy, although I dont/won't "go there" - a heavier girl. Always.

But for me, with small boobs, you need to keep a low weight, to have any curves at all. Else I look stocky, like Mary Lou Retton. If she'll forgive me the comparison.

So it's two years after Ellie and I'm a rectangle. With bad hair. And ill fitting clothes.

I tried. I paid the stylist, I walked, I Shredded, I bought what I thought were key items at Ann Taylor, at the Gap.

But my body changed. And my attitude along with it.

I became.
I have become.
Cumbersome.
(sorry. Couldn't resist the 90s music reference there)
Dumpy.

I've become Dumpy. Cute enough in a Plain Jane cute way but as far as kicking ass and taking names? Not. Likely. At. All.

Back In September I thought Id join a gym. But the days became packed with Ellie things and my husband found it unfair to be out at night. I thought about working out, and like Scarlett O'Hara, pumped me fists at tomorrows day.

"And this time. THIS TIME. I mean it" I thought.

I wasn't lazy per se. Because I was a mad woman. Plans everyday, field trips, corunning the church group, baby gymnastics, dinner on the table, home organized, bills paid, life running smoothly along. And by nighttime the day would be gone and I'd have eaten PERFECTLY but alas, no loss. Because I was always a good eater. So the body was used to the amount of calories.

I needed exercise.

September turned to October, then November (no shit) and December. I didn't join a gym because of the money, the time of year. "I wont go" I thought. "We're traveling to NY, to CT, to wherever." It's a waste of cash. Janauray. I'll start then. Then we contemplated the maybe baby. "I can't join the gym NOW" I thought. What if I get pregnant? Because balh blah fucking BLAH - as everyone ELSE who knows me knows. I can't work out while pregnant.

So even though we carefully moved the goalie, we didn't exactly...um...put a power play in motion right away. So even though I knew I "wasn't" there's always the chance I "could be" so for January, then February, I was too scared to exercise. "Well what if it took? What if, even though I wasn't ovulating (too graphic? sorry) Even though all these things, if I am...at all. I don't want to find out when I'm gushing down my leg. (Oh what, and that WASN'T graphic?)

March I exercise like a mad woman. And success! The sixes were starting to fit.

We were BRINGING SEXY BACK.
Butch haircut notwithstanding.
I lost the momentum in April, and here I am in May.
Fantastically obsessed.
Wanting Weight Watchers. Wanting to do the fat flush. wanting with a college dorm passion to eat less. The discipline on those anorexics I tell ya. Waking up in the morning thinking "What can I NOT eat today."

It's awful.
And the warm weather, and fit friends aren't helping.

And I'm stuck. Because I know with utmost certainty that there's nothing I can do about it.
Not right now.

And of all the things I SHOULD be concerned about, I find it appalling that this is the thing I care about the most.