ACK!!!

This comic... PERFECTLY depicts my shopping trip last night. Only, instead of swim suits... think jeans.
I seriously felt like Cathy (Everyone remembers the Cathy comic from the newspaper, right?)...
*sighs* Stay with me, this next part is going to seem a little off topic, but...
I had really high expectations for my pregnancy, labor and delivery, and postpartum experiences. I was under the illusion that I would LOVE pregnancy. I did not. I had the expectation that my labor and delivery would be text book and beautiful. It was not. And, I had the notion I'd be even more beautiful and self confident after Olivia was born, than ever before. Yeah, right.
Why did I have these notions? Because I was under the false pretense that because generations of women before me had it easy, I would too. No one in my family ever told me they hated pregnancy... My Mother was one of those women that thought she was a beautiful goddess of the Earth and that it rained kittens and smiles, through her entire pregnancy with my younger brother. I seriously thought that's how I would feel! No such luck.
Then, I had the strange idea that because generations of women, on both sides of my family, had been able to successfully deliver their children (My mother did have a c/s, but for reasons unlike my own)... That I too would be the strong Amazon woman, who powers through labor with ease and delight, unmedicated of course. HAHAHAHAHAHA. I was seriously delusional. 40 hours of nothing but disappointment, showed me that.
Finally, I REALLY thought I would bounce back easily. That I wouldn't get stretchmarks or weird tumors ... And that I too could expect to lose the weight of pregnancy with ease. Again, I don't know what kind of crazy pills I was taking...
I mean, my Grandmother did walk out of the hospital in the jeans she wore prepregnancy and my Mother did win a 'beauty contest' just a couple of months after my own birth. But, I should have realized my own experience would be unlike theirs... I seem to defy centuries of genetics in relation to childbearing.
So, with almost 5 months of exclusive breastfeeding under my belt, I thought for sure I would have bounced back, even just a little, by now.
And, Spring has sprung and my usual uniform of tights and skirts will soon be far too heavy for the summer months of Indiana and Nebraska. I wanted to pick up a humble Spring wardrobe. Some basics, a pair of straight jeans that I could cuff to the calf when appropriate, a light weight skirt, a few tops and a pair of sandals. Nothing extravagant, really. The very basics, to make it through summer.
I knew I hadn't lost all of the baby weight, but I was really ill prepared for what lie ahead of me at the mall.
When I got pregnant, I was a small 14. Meaning some 14's were big on me and occasionally I could wear a 12. Not a small girl, by any means... But, at my height, reasonable and healthy.
So, I knew I would have to buy a bigger size than that, because nothing in my closet fits... But, I was thinking '16'. Not, tent.
First, I allowed my husband to convince me to try a Runza, instead of getting the Subway sandwich I had planned on (which would have included whole wheat bread, veggie patty, lettuce, tomato and onion)... For those of you that do not know what Runza is, it is hamburger with cabbage and cheese wrapped in dough. Being from Bloomington, IN meant I had NEVER even heard of such a monstrosity until I met my husband. Let alone tried one.
Let's just say that cabbage and grease didn't do anything good for my waistline... and that I should have considered taking Beano with my meal. I only ate half before I started feeling sick and my husband ended up finishing my meal.
We then proceeded to Younkers, which is a lot like a Macy's. I went to some of my old friends, Calvin and Donna... and I picked up a size larger than I would normally buy.
It was simply depressing. We won't even talk about it.
Distressed, I went over to the 'extended sizes' section... And, it is officially clear to me what fashion industry thinks of 'Fat Girls'. There was a shirt, with fish on the collar! FISH! And everything, as far as the eye could see was BRIGHT with HUGE pattern. Really? That's what women of fuller figures have been reduced to? Moomoo's and children's styling?
So, I went to Vanity... which many of my friends suggested. They don't carry the long length I needed... or at least they were fresh out. So, I didn't even try anything on.
Then Gap... They didn't really have the size I wanted in store... So, the sales girl gave me a size smaller to try on for fit. I literally cried in the fitting room. No joke. Why would that sales girl do something so mean to a woman that just had a baby? WHY!?
Finally, I ended up... bruised and broken... in the Torrid store. I've never seen a store like this before. But, I finally figured out where women like this, buy their clothing.
I'm sorry. That link was mean. But, those women really have eluded me, for some time.
HOWEVER, I will hand it to Torrid... This store considers the fact that just because a girl is heavier doesn't mean she no longer cares to look good. Now, my idea of good is a little different. But, my husband did try to convince me (in all seriousness) that booty shorts might be a good idea. So, someone thinks it looks good.
BUT! BUT, they weren't without graces, either. They carried a WIDE (no pun intended) range of types and sizes of jeans. I was impressed. Most were a bit too faddish, for my liking. As I tend to be more of a pencil skirt over mini skirt type. But, it was way better than no sizes or the tents that other stores carried.
And, here's where the Cathy cartoon comes in...
Here's a store all about celebrating the many sizes and shapes of women. A store all about offering variety to a group of women that have been ignored and shunned by the fashion industry. A place where curves are considered the norm... a place where I was not a fat girl. But, rather a place where I was a Reubenesque beauty. And, I was so hung up on a number that I forgot what made me this size...
Practically in tears about being 3 sizes bigger than I was a year ago... My sales girl reminded me that the handsome redhead across the store, holding the most beautiful little girl she'd ever seen, was the cause of this increased number. She asked me if I'd trade those two for a trimmer waistline... and I obviously responded that I wouldn't give them up for anything.
I still felt fat. Don't get me wrong. And, I still went home and cried. But, this morning I woke up with a renewed sense of motivation.
Nothing about my experience bringing Olivia into this world has been easy or pleasant for me, yet... So, I don't know why I assumed losing the baby weight would be, either.
But, I needn't get too down on myself. I didn't see any of those women in that store as being fat pigs... Yet, that's how I viewed myself. How unfair is that?
I didn't buy anything. I think I'll finish THE SHRED (how ominous is that name?), avoid Runza and shop another day.
That's more productive than crying in a fitting room, anyway.