That's what every day seems to be. A new version of the same hell I am in.
As if life is not awful right now...I have ONE pair of jeans that fits me. One. And wouldn't you know it? It's early maternity. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. So the pair of jeans gets worn and washed, day in and day out.
When I went to Philadelphia with John yesterday for his business trip, I put my best foot forward and went looking for clothes.
I gained 47 pounds when I was pregnant. I only started at 97. Before you keep reading, please don't grumble about how I was teeny tiny in the first place and the size I am now still is amazing. I realize I was small before. I realize I have always been blessed with my size. I KNOW this and have always been grateful for it. But gaining half my body weight was a MAJOR deal for me. Major.
I've lost nearly 30 pounds already--and I really couldn't care less about how much left I have. I'd be fine if I stayed this weight the rest of my life. It's not the weight--it's the redistribution. And that is NOT something I can change--hips and ribs spread during pregnancy, and they change the body shape.
So when looking for clothes, I really didn't mind so much that I went from a 0 to a 6 (YES--I KNOW A SIX IS STILL SMALL....but think about the CHANGE for me)....after all, I just had a baby.
I just figured that when looking for things to fit the 'new' me, I'd have the baby with me. It would be worth it and I wouldn't care.
Nope. Empty dressing room and the only one crying was me.
When John and I went to grab lunch, there were babies/toddlers everywhere. Everywhere. And again, as I said, these are obviously not Matthew...but today, they were reminders that I didn't have my baby with me. I sat down with John to eat and thought I was going to throw up because I was so sickened. I couldn't swallow for the lump in my throat.
And my favorite? As if trying to find something to wear wasn't enough struggle, walking by Carter's and Gymboree and The Children's Place and Janie and Jack was torture. Just torture.
I SHOULD BE IN THOSE STORES.
I SHOULD HAVE MY SON WITH ME.
THIS SHOULD NOT BE MY LIFE.
And it's not. Instead, it's my own version of hell. Every day, though, it seems I find a new dimension to the same hell I've been in for the last 6 weeks.
That's all. It's just hell.