At lunch today one of my best friends said I looked "frail." I assured her that I have been sleeping pretty well and eating a ton, but I did admit I've lost some weight since the accident. I thought again how much I obsessed over my weight last summer, and subjected you to it, wishing there was a way I could lose a few pounds without even trying. Ugh.
Now, not only do I see my fretting about my weight as stupid and pointless, I can't really enjoy the fact that my clothes fit better. I am too focused on making it through the days right now. And the fact that the weight loss is just a byproduct of losing something far, far greater-- my 70 lb boy, my Jack-- makes me more de-pressed than im-pressed with any number on the scale.
It reminded me of how I felt about my "chestal area" shortly after giving birth. Oh my! No one had warned me that overnight I would be blessed with porn star boobs. I mean not quite like Ice-T's wife CoCo, during our New York City Celebrity sighting, but ever so close. I couldn't even see my feet.
I remember showing my friend Kathy pictures taken in the hospital of baby Jack. "He's adorable!" she gushed. Then, pointing to the melon-sized something next to his tiny head, continued, "But what's that thing? ...Oh...Ewwww...Sorry."
Instead of reveling in my bodacious new body parts, I was too busy trying to keep the sweet and scrawny baby alive. The altered physique was wasted on me. And when Tim, eyes as big as saucers, did a double-take, I was like: "Dude, back off. These are WORKING boobs."
So today, with a little spare room in my jeans, while I am slightly more comfortable with my waistband not digging into my midsection, I am not yet comfortable with the situation that got me here.
Now, not only do I see my fretting about my weight as stupid and pointless, I can't really enjoy the fact that my clothes fit better. I am too focused on making it through the days right now. And the fact that the weight loss is just a byproduct of losing something far, far greater-- my 70 lb boy, my Jack-- makes me more de-pressed than im-pressed with any number on the scale.
It reminded me of how I felt about my "chestal area" shortly after giving birth. Oh my! No one had warned me that overnight I would be blessed with porn star boobs. I mean not quite like Ice-T's wife CoCo, during our New York City Celebrity sighting, but ever so close. I couldn't even see my feet.
I remember showing my friend Kathy pictures taken in the hospital of baby Jack. "He's adorable!" she gushed. Then, pointing to the melon-sized something next to his tiny head, continued, "But what's that thing? ...Oh...Ewwww...Sorry."
Instead of reveling in my bodacious new body parts, I was too busy trying to keep the sweet and scrawny baby alive. The altered physique was wasted on me. And when Tim, eyes as big as saucers, did a double-take, I was like: "Dude, back off. These are WORKING boobs."
So today, with a little spare room in my jeans, while I am slightly more comfortable with my waistband not digging into my midsection, I am not yet comfortable with the situation that got me here.
