I’ve gotten fat.
I mean, I’m not fat. That’s crazy. I joke to Poppa and Jack and Nate and Luke and Momma that I’ve gotten fat — because I have. My body literally has more fat than it used to. Hence, I’ve gotten fat. But I’m not fat. And either way, it doesn’t matter.
So, yeah. Let me give you a brief history —
I was always thin. I was blessed with the good genes from this wonderful side of the family:
(Yes, my family used to go all out for Halloween.) (Yes, I’m the one with the drink in my hand, covering my face.) (Yes, I tried to make the photo larger but couldn’t figure it out. Zoom in or something.)
As you can see, it seems the women just get thinner as they age. Great genes, unite!
Anyway, I was always around 110-115lbs. Since I was 14 years old. I’m about 5′ 4″, so you may think that seems low, but I seriously have no muscle mass. I mean, obviously I have some, but barely. So all of my weight comes from bones and organs and blood and fat. There’s that word again.
I hit my lowest when my diet consisted of cocaine and more cocaine when I was 16 or 17. I weighed 103lbs and looked scary. My collarbones were sticking out profusely in my old driver’s license photo. I was a size zero, sometimes double zero. I loved it.
I hit my lowest right before I got pregnant, when I had been off heroin for 7 months and was on methadone. I weighed 122lbs, was a size 5, and had a little chub around my stomach but still looked thin. I remember everyone telling me how healthy I looked. Except for one of my mom’s friends, who was incredibly overweight herself, told me I was getting chunky. I almost punched her but then realized maybe her own low self-esteem was being taken out on me so I let it go.
Between those times I stuck steady around 110-115lbs and a size 3. I never thought I was that thin, but I guess I was. I took it for granted.
During the end of my pregnancy I got up to about 145lbs. Which still wasn’t much — I only gained about 20 pounds. I loved how my pregnancy body looked (not so much the way it felt), with my little butt sticking out and my big belly, while the rest of me remained close to the same as before. I was one of those women people classify as “all baby” or “all belly”.
Then once the baby was born, I didn’t lose the weight right away. As a matter of fact, I never really lost it. I lost some, and probably got back down to 120lbs, but my baby bump still remains. I used to hate it, now I don’t really mind.
What I’m really here to tell you is that now, 3 years after I gave birth, I weigh 130lbs. I have some chub, some chunk. I’m getting a little thick. Most people don’t believe it because I wear the proper clothes to fit my body (and hide my belly), but it’s true. And again, it may not seem that much to you, but to a small person such as myself, it is.
This winter was rough. It was frigid cold and when my depression kicked into high gear, so I laid in bed and ate all day. Every day. I’ve always loved food, but I discovered a passion I never knew existed. A passion not just for food, but for crap food. Ice cream and chocolate covered granola bars and YoCrunch yogurts and fudgepops and everything we ever tell our kids is bad for them. And I wouldn’t just eat the recommended amount — I would eat 3 or 4 times that. I devoured at least a pint of Ben & Jerry’s S’mores ice cream a day, on top of whatever else I could fit in my mouth.
So I gained 10 pounds. I kept thinking I’d lose it come summer, but that didn’t happen. So I caved and bought size 7 pants, which didn’t really fit, so then I bought size 9. I switched out my small and medium shirts for larges. I bought flowy tops and tight bottoms, which is the opposite of how I used to dress.
And I fucking love it.
I love the way I look in a large t-shirt and cute pair of shorts. I love the way I look in one of Jack’s shirts and a pair of leggings. I love the way I look in pajamas.
I love the way I look.
Most people I know would be self-conscious and saddened by this weight gain. Media would tell me to shed those pounds, stat! I say screw them all. I fucking love food and I fucking love myself and maybe anyone who has a problem with that should suck it.
I went out and bought a flowy shirt that says Fries Before Guys.* Because — FOOD. Food over everyone. Comfort over everyone. Myself over the jerk who thinks I don’t have a ‘bikini body’.
I’m rockin’ my chub. Maybe you should rock whatever body you have, too.
*Photo coming once I find my damn elusive camera.
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How do you feel about your body? What about diets? Have you experienced a distinct weight gain or loss, or other body change, and accepted, embraced, and rocked it like I’m trying to do? Let me know! (And if you need someone to boost your self-esteem let me know and I’ll compliment the hell out of you.)