By Jennifer Savage
The other day I asked Seth if my pants looked too tight. He tilted his head to the side and told me to turn around.
I did.
“I think they are a little tight,” he said. “Really, they just look uncomfortable.”
In case you were wondering, Seth never got the “No, babe, you look great!” lesson. If I ask what he thinks about what I have on, or the way my hair looks, I better be ready for the truth. He’s honest and I love it about him even though I don’t always agree with him.
But this day, I took off my jeans searching for another pair of pants that fit a little looser, not because I valued his opinion so much, but because he was right, those jeans were uncomfortable.
Let me say that Seth is not one of those men who wants his woman to look a certain way. Well, that’s not true. If I were to wear, say, peasant looking blouses with baggy, dirty Carhardts everyday, he’d be thrilled. Add long braids and his fantasy would be complete. But my hair looks infinitely better short and, occasionally, I’d like something in my wardrobe that I cannot buy at the farm supply store, which brings me back to those uncomfortable jeans.
I bought them last year on the sale rack. After two pregnancies in two years, nothing in my closet fit so when I went shopping that day I was desperately in need of pants. But even more than that I was in need of a style boost. I wanted an outfit that was at least in the ballpark of hip. Something that didn’t have milk stains on the shoulders. Something that didn’t have an elastic waist.
Shirts had gotten longer since I’d last darkened the door of the mall. Jeans were riding a little lower. After an hour or so I landed on a pair that weren’t too long or too baggy. The tag said they were “curvy” and, at the time, I was anything but. At the risk of inciting violence here from some women who may not have had the same experience, I lost weight after having both of my babies. I lost not just the pregnancy weight but, both times, went down to number I hadn’t seen on the scale since the early 90s. I’m not saying this was necessarily good.
I breastfed both babies and maybe that had something to do with the weight loss, I’m not sure. I do know that I had no appetite. Nothing sounded good to eat and eating became one more thing I had to do.
I stumbled with blind exhaustion through the first year of my youngest daughter’s life. I don’t remember many details from that year only a feeling that I was operating at capacity almost all of the time. Eliza was two and half, Lucille, an infant. I remember tending, changing diaper after diaper, packing and unpacking the car. Blurry trips to the grocery store. Nursing while sitting in the diaper aisle at Target. I subsisted on m&ms and Coke some days and too often fell into sleep on the couch at 7:30 p.m. with my tiny daughter’s sleeping body on my arm.
In June, on her first birthday, I landed in the hospital with meningitis, in part, the doctors thought because I was so run down. After a three month rough and tumble recovery, I started taking better care of myself. I started running again. I started paying attention to what I ate. I stopped missing yoga.
In the eight months since I had meningitis, I’ve gained five pounds. Five much needed pounds. My face and hips are a little rounder and, my jeans don’t fit.
So it looks as though I may find myself back at the mall combing through the sale racks looking for another pair of jeans that do. I’ll be a little curvier this time, to be sure, but healthier too. And alive and strong.
Jennifer Savage is a writer and mama of Eliza and Lucille. Lately, she’s learning to be a city girl. She writes from her home in Missoula, Montana. She is also one of Mamalode’s favorite writers and you can fall in love with her too at Savagemama.com. Read more of Jennifer’s mamalode articles here.
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An eloguent reminder that balance and good health does not always equate to a smaller size. Thank you!
Lovely! PS–Glad to hear that my man isn’t the only one who tells it like it is.
[...] Let me say that Seth is not one of those men who wants his woman to look a certain way. Well, that’s not true. If I were to wear, say, peasant looking blouses with baggy, dirty Carhardts everyday, he’d be thrilled. Add long braids and his fantasy would be complete. But my hair looks infinitely better short and, occasionally, I’d like something in my wardrobe that I cannot buy at the farm supply store, which brings me back to those uncomfortable jeans. Read More » [...]