Something's Afoot
One thing about losing weight in the Middle Ages, as it were (I’m 41), is that things don’t simply shrink. My tummy, for example, which once resembled a paper bag stuffed full of snakes, and poked out beyond my 48” breasts, has slimmed down considerably these last 63.0 pounds. I cried myself to sleep the time I went to kiss “X” good-night, and my belly touched his chest before our lips met. Thank goodness that is all behind me.
My belly is still apparent, but it has diminished to something closer to normal. It didn’t just retreat though; it left a droop to the skin that is part post-partum body and part Too Dang Much Peanut Butter Chunk Ice Cream. Judging from the eye-rolling remarks that my mommy-yet-slender friends make, I expect that this ‘baby sling’ will stay with me forever. I’ve considered surgery, but general anesthesia spooks me, and at this juncture, I’d rather wear control-top pantyhose than risk death because I want a tummy that is neither accurate re: my body shape, nor earned, as are the rest of my curves. I’m a mommy, and I’m okay with showing the marks of motherhood.
My breasts are shrinking, too. I expected this, of course, since breast tissue is nearly all fat tissue, and I was wholly uncomfortable with the Rack-Gone-Gazongas look I sported in my heavier days. What I’ve noticed, though, is that my breasts aren’t shrinking so much as they’re flattening. There’s little loft and not much swell to them anymore. I think if I ever got the courage to wear a sports bra that I’d have to get one of those tank styles, to keep the bottoms of my breasts from popping out from under the band.
Again, I’ve considered a reduction, if for no other reason than to rid my shoulders of the permanent bra strap marks and to prove to myself that I do not have 4 hook-and-eye closures tattooed on the middle of my back. Now I’m not sure that’s necessary. Looking at the pathetic pair of ‘long johns’ (long janes?) that I have in place of the Perkies I used to own, I wonder if I’d be better served by installing shade pulls to my nipples. This way, when I wanted smaller boobies, I’d just tug on the pull and let my breast “roll up” toward my rib cage. Maybe then they’d actually fit properly into my bras too. Hmmm. I wonder if there’s a market for Boob Shade Pulls. Something to consider. Though I would definitely have to figure out how to keep my breast from snapping up, like the shades used to do.
I’ve also lost 12 inches off my waist-a full foot. I have always counted the curve of my waist to be one of my best features, and I’m delighted that it has returned. Last weekend, I stuffed myself into one of my old corsets and even got it cinched up a little bit. I had a whole Jessica Rabbit thing going on….well, maybe it was more of a Pinched Marshmallow, but still, I couldn’t even get that thing around me before, and now it closes and I can tighten it. I figure I got myself down to about 29”. Yay, a (fake) waist in the 20s! Now if only I had a bustle and some really nasty button-up shoes to go with it….
Speaking of feet…mine are shrinking.
Until I got fat, and then pregnant, and then fatter, I was an 8.5, and had been since I was about 14 years old. Sometimes I wore a 9 in a tennis shoe, and sometimes I could sneak myself into an 8 if it had a wide throat, but mostly I was an 8.5, and I was happy with that. I mean, after all, shoe size doesn’t change. Or, didn't.
I’ve always liked shoes, but in the way I like cars: utilitarian, affordable, and versatile. While I can oooh over a pair of alligator pumps with little satin bows, that is not my style, and anyway, my cheapness spills over into footwear. The most I ever paid for shoes was about $100, and that was for a pair of Nikes that I wore until the soles crumbled. My pumps are usually leather, since my feet sweat in man-made materials, but they’re usually plain, and usually Model-T black. My summer sandals are those wooden, no toe-cleavage Dr. Somebody things that work the calves, and I have a set of deerskin moccasins that I bought at the Ohio state fair in 1987. I don’t wear slippers, I like my sturdy construction-style shoes from the dyke era, and, well, I have them all in 8.5 Or, rather, I did.
When I got fat, and then pregnant, I noticed that a 9 fit better in regular shoes. I didn’t really like going up a size, but I liked toe-pinching much less, and so I conceded. I maneuvered in sneakers and sandals for the better part of 2 years, and when I went back to work, I found 2 pair of oxfords (one black, one brown-black) that I could wear with all my pants --no skirts for this fatty! All size 9. One sympathetic mother told me that a woman’s shoe size increases in pregnancy and rarely goes back. Okay, I’ll take it. Like my stretch marks, I’ll wear my New Feet proudly. Besides, a 9 isn’t so bad.
So I begin my weight loss and eventually I start looking for sexier clothes, and the idea of a heeled shoe comes into my mind. Well, that’s not exactly right. What actually happened was that Howard and I were at Kohl’s one Sunday buying new clothes (what a surprise!), and when I breezed past the shoe aisle, touching a pair of black (of course!) patent leather sling-backs, he said, “I think you’d look really sexy in heels.”
Okay, then! Let’s go shoe shopping!
Inexplicably, I decided to try boots. I’ve never been able to wear them. I have really high arches, and for some reason, boots simply do not fit my feet. But I adore them. I like the tall, thin-heeled babies with the micro fiber sleeve that are popular now, and while I’m not yet ready to try the skirt/boot combo (not ready to share my legs with the world), I was ready to try the tall shoes, as it were. Besides, I’ve noticed that jeans come more often in boot cut than straight leg, and so I know I have some things I can wear with them.
I find a boot I like and I slip it on. Oooh, roomy. Comfy. I stand up and walk-that’s the real test. My toe slides into the shoe and then when I take a step, it hauls all the way back to the heel. This boot is too big! Confused, but also secretly hopeful and happy, I get another 9, and then another. All too big.
Bring me the eight-and-a-hey!
I find my favorite boot in the 8.5. Much better. I step. Still not right. I step again and nearly fall over. Too big. Try another, this one has a wide bottom. Nope, too big. The cockroach-killer got close, but still more room than I need.
Size 8?
I haven’t been a size 8 since I was 10 years old, and that includes all the years I was 140 pounds. I suppose it’s possible that shoes are cut bigger now, but somehow it seems unlikely. I put the 8 on my foot and take a stand. It fits. Not too tight, either. Fits. This is my size.
So here’s how it all worked out: size 8 for sneakers, sandals, casuals, and pumps/boots with square or rounded toes. For the fairy-tail-pointy, ‘triangle toe’ shoes and zip-down boots, I’m an 8.5. I do not understand this last part, by the way. It seems these would be roomier, but whatever. I’m totally fine in an 8.5 as my "spillover" size.
Here’s the cool part: I have no skin sag on my feet, no extra baggage, and no corsets needed. They’re my feet, same as they ever were. Only my size 9s are now an 8. Howard says if my feet get any smaller, I’ll tip over from my breast weight, but I don’t think so. After all, I have my boob shades to protect me.
A the F(igure 8)
My belly is still apparent, but it has diminished to something closer to normal. It didn’t just retreat though; it left a droop to the skin that is part post-partum body and part Too Dang Much Peanut Butter Chunk Ice Cream. Judging from the eye-rolling remarks that my mommy-yet-slender friends make, I expect that this ‘baby sling’ will stay with me forever. I’ve considered surgery, but general anesthesia spooks me, and at this juncture, I’d rather wear control-top pantyhose than risk death because I want a tummy that is neither accurate re: my body shape, nor earned, as are the rest of my curves. I’m a mommy, and I’m okay with showing the marks of motherhood.
My breasts are shrinking, too. I expected this, of course, since breast tissue is nearly all fat tissue, and I was wholly uncomfortable with the Rack-Gone-Gazongas look I sported in my heavier days. What I’ve noticed, though, is that my breasts aren’t shrinking so much as they’re flattening. There’s little loft and not much swell to them anymore. I think if I ever got the courage to wear a sports bra that I’d have to get one of those tank styles, to keep the bottoms of my breasts from popping out from under the band.
Again, I’ve considered a reduction, if for no other reason than to rid my shoulders of the permanent bra strap marks and to prove to myself that I do not have 4 hook-and-eye closures tattooed on the middle of my back. Now I’m not sure that’s necessary. Looking at the pathetic pair of ‘long johns’ (long janes?) that I have in place of the Perkies I used to own, I wonder if I’d be better served by installing shade pulls to my nipples. This way, when I wanted smaller boobies, I’d just tug on the pull and let my breast “roll up” toward my rib cage. Maybe then they’d actually fit properly into my bras too. Hmmm. I wonder if there’s a market for Boob Shade Pulls. Something to consider. Though I would definitely have to figure out how to keep my breast from snapping up, like the shades used to do.
I’ve also lost 12 inches off my waist-a full foot. I have always counted the curve of my waist to be one of my best features, and I’m delighted that it has returned. Last weekend, I stuffed myself into one of my old corsets and even got it cinched up a little bit. I had a whole Jessica Rabbit thing going on….well, maybe it was more of a Pinched Marshmallow, but still, I couldn’t even get that thing around me before, and now it closes and I can tighten it. I figure I got myself down to about 29”. Yay, a (fake) waist in the 20s! Now if only I had a bustle and some really nasty button-up shoes to go with it….
Speaking of feet…mine are shrinking.
Until I got fat, and then pregnant, and then fatter, I was an 8.5, and had been since I was about 14 years old. Sometimes I wore a 9 in a tennis shoe, and sometimes I could sneak myself into an 8 if it had a wide throat, but mostly I was an 8.5, and I was happy with that. I mean, after all, shoe size doesn’t change. Or, didn't.
I’ve always liked shoes, but in the way I like cars: utilitarian, affordable, and versatile. While I can oooh over a pair of alligator pumps with little satin bows, that is not my style, and anyway, my cheapness spills over into footwear. The most I ever paid for shoes was about $100, and that was for a pair of Nikes that I wore until the soles crumbled. My pumps are usually leather, since my feet sweat in man-made materials, but they’re usually plain, and usually Model-T black. My summer sandals are those wooden, no toe-cleavage Dr. Somebody things that work the calves, and I have a set of deerskin moccasins that I bought at the Ohio state fair in 1987. I don’t wear slippers, I like my sturdy construction-style shoes from the dyke era, and, well, I have them all in 8.5 Or, rather, I did.
When I got fat, and then pregnant, I noticed that a 9 fit better in regular shoes. I didn’t really like going up a size, but I liked toe-pinching much less, and so I conceded. I maneuvered in sneakers and sandals for the better part of 2 years, and when I went back to work, I found 2 pair of oxfords (one black, one brown-black) that I could wear with all my pants --no skirts for this fatty! All size 9. One sympathetic mother told me that a woman’s shoe size increases in pregnancy and rarely goes back. Okay, I’ll take it. Like my stretch marks, I’ll wear my New Feet proudly. Besides, a 9 isn’t so bad.
So I begin my weight loss and eventually I start looking for sexier clothes, and the idea of a heeled shoe comes into my mind. Well, that’s not exactly right. What actually happened was that Howard and I were at Kohl’s one Sunday buying new clothes (what a surprise!), and when I breezed past the shoe aisle, touching a pair of black (of course!) patent leather sling-backs, he said, “I think you’d look really sexy in heels.”
Okay, then! Let’s go shoe shopping!
Inexplicably, I decided to try boots. I’ve never been able to wear them. I have really high arches, and for some reason, boots simply do not fit my feet. But I adore them. I like the tall, thin-heeled babies with the micro fiber sleeve that are popular now, and while I’m not yet ready to try the skirt/boot combo (not ready to share my legs with the world), I was ready to try the tall shoes, as it were. Besides, I’ve noticed that jeans come more often in boot cut than straight leg, and so I know I have some things I can wear with them.
I find a boot I like and I slip it on. Oooh, roomy. Comfy. I stand up and walk-that’s the real test. My toe slides into the shoe and then when I take a step, it hauls all the way back to the heel. This boot is too big! Confused, but also secretly hopeful and happy, I get another 9, and then another. All too big.
Bring me the eight-and-a-hey!
I find my favorite boot in the 8.5. Much better. I step. Still not right. I step again and nearly fall over. Too big. Try another, this one has a wide bottom. Nope, too big. The cockroach-killer got close, but still more room than I need.
Size 8?
I haven’t been a size 8 since I was 10 years old, and that includes all the years I was 140 pounds. I suppose it’s possible that shoes are cut bigger now, but somehow it seems unlikely. I put the 8 on my foot and take a stand. It fits. Not too tight, either. Fits. This is my size.
So here’s how it all worked out: size 8 for sneakers, sandals, casuals, and pumps/boots with square or rounded toes. For the fairy-tail-pointy, ‘triangle toe’ shoes and zip-down boots, I’m an 8.5. I do not understand this last part, by the way. It seems these would be roomier, but whatever. I’m totally fine in an 8.5 as my "spillover" size.
Here’s the cool part: I have no skin sag on my feet, no extra baggage, and no corsets needed. They’re my feet, same as they ever were. Only my size 9s are now an 8. Howard says if my feet get any smaller, I’ll tip over from my breast weight, but I don’t think so. After all, I have my boob shades to protect me.
A the F(igure 8)
posted by Former Fat Girl Gone Skinny | 9:48 AM
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