Yesterday, I was late for an appointment and frantically looking through my very pathetic summer wardrobe to find a pair of shorts that might fit over the lumpy behemoth that has grown on the top of my legs. Having minimal success, I squeezed into the only pair available; a beautiful elastic waist, pink, purple and white plaid, and threw on an XL t-shirt to hide their challenged waistline.
Yesterday, I was late for an appointment and frantically looking through my very pathetic summer wardrobe to find a pair of shorts that might fit over the lumpy behemoth that has grown on the top of my legs. Having minimal success, I squeezed into the only pair available; a beautiful elastic waist, pink, purple and white plaid, and threw on an XL t-shirt to hide their challenged waistline.
At times like this, I ruefully recall how this happened in the first place. It was the pregnancies. I didn't just eat for two. I ate with wild carb-wrought abandon. Kirby Lane pancakes. Zuzu's Chicken Enchiladas Verde with a double side of fried potatoes. I was a fixture in these establishments. While pregnant with Alex, I gained over 50 lbs. Each month convinced that the OB-GYN was wrong about one fetus; I was eating for three, or four.
During this pregnancy we were also building a house. Chuck and I would drive out to the property daily to monitor the progress and video tape the experience.
One day, when I was, oh, about 7 months pregnant, we were at the construction site and Chuck decided to video tape the back of the house (which was being built on a steeply sloping lot). He was down the hill a bit, panning back and forth across the back of the structure, narrating the various points of interest: there's the bedroom window, here you see the balconies over looking the golf course, over there is the family room, etc. And, over here is a pile of debris left by the construction crew.
"Oh," Chuck speaks into the recorder's microphone, "It looks like, what? It's a purple sofa cushion! Now, someone’s dumping their oversized trash onto our property! Wait…it's…it's...moving. Oh, it's not a sofa cushion, it's my lovely wife!" You can hear these words spoken as he's processing what he's seeing. He begins to back pedal as he realizes that his flattering depiction of my posterior is caught on tape for posterity.
It took him a few hours to finally fess up as he labored over the decision of whether to show me the tape or just hide it away, or get rid of it altogether. In the end, he realized that he’s been BLESSED with a wife with a sense of humor, and he played the tape for me. We laughed; what else could I do? It was rather funny and I did look remarkably gaudy in my purple knit maternity outfit.
So, back to the summer wardrobe; I can no longer hold on to these size 6 reminders of a pre-maternal youth. The truth is that, after 5 years, even if I do get my butt back down to a size 6 these articles will no longer be fashionable.
I guess it’s time to give them away and go shop for some new upholstery.