Sticking to My Resolution

... to refrain from making New Year's resolutions.  I'm 10 years in and can report 100% success.  I just have too much self-work to wait until the start of another year.


One thing I've officially been working on since a week after Fynn arrived has been regaining my body.  If you read that I only gained 14 pounds while pregnant, or that I've lost 36 pounds since delivery, you might be a bit jealous.  Don't.  I am one pound away from my interim goal (which was supposed to be met by tomorrow).  That's right, there's plenty more where that came from!


I have, however, lost enough to fit into some pants I haven't been able to wear since the pre-Madelyn days.  Even better, I'm outgrowing (in the correct direction... whew!) the pants I got for those not-quite-ready-for-maternity-clothes days three years ago.  My wonderful husb... er... Santa gave me money for new clothing (along with a not-so-subtly veiled warning that I am not to buy anything for the kids or the house or my husband).


Santa... uh, Tom wanted to shop with me.  It sounds lovely on the surface, even if Fynn weren't going through a phase where seeing Mama requires being held by Mama at all times or loud gulping sobs will ensue (next week's gonna be great!).  I'm eking my way out of the fat girl stores, but am not yet down to a size where I'd want my husband helping me pick out clothes with, you know... sizes on them.  The thought makes me queasy.


And really, isn't shopping stressful enough?  Without standardized sizing, it's nearly impossible to know what will fit.  I would have liked a friend along for the journey, but you all live so far away.  Because I love you, especially certain yous, and because we can all use a good laugh on this last day of 2010, here is what you would have seen if you'd been in the fitting room with me.

My actual thighs.  Don't you love the pulling and bunching?  And the rippling?!  And in pants larger ("size-wise") than the pants I left home in.  Yeah, it's okay to laugh.  (That's my ratty old, bleach- and milk-stained shirt that I wore in public.  Nice, huh?)

And here's the other part of my pants shopping dilemma.  It's hard to tell, but the waist of these pants sticks out nearly two inches all the way around.  And yet the thighs are still stuffed like sausage casings.  (You can thank me now for not posting the full frontal belly version of this shot.  It's bad enough that pretty much is my natural skin tone.  *shudder*)

Oh, and one thing I couldn't maneuver well enough to show you (and you know you're dying to hear about this) is that, even in pants labeled "sits at waist" my underwear bunches up and sticks out the back.  Like a voluntary wedgie.  Regardless of whether the pants are too tight or not.

Somehow I did manage to find some clothes.  No, I don't have pictures of those.  But trust me, I wouldn't embarrass you if we were out in public together (because of my clothes anyway).  Two shirts, including one that is not black or white (okay, it's green and black), a charcoal sweater/jacket so I don't have to snag Tom's lightweight coat, some PJ bottoms that I love, a pair of green fuzzy gloves and a pair of black jeans.  In a size that I'm almost not embarrassed by.  Except that I used a little sizing trick to get them. 

At 5'7" I'm on the cusp of being tall according to the clothing industry.  One thing I learned several years back is that the "tall" pants are also slightly fuller.  So it's a little like cheating because I'm pretty sure that the average length pants would put me straight back into school security guard territory.  Whatever.  I'm off to wash (and never dry) those pants.