This experience was so painful and draining that the only way to make something good out of it was to write it out and see if maybe it wasn’t that bad in hindsight…
It was time. Time to walk into a store and attempt to find some jeans that look somewhat normal, and that fit me somewhat normally, even though my body is far from normal...
Immediately after entering the store (Ross, for anyone who cares), I made myself hurry past the pretty “party” type dresses (that are gorgeous, but no one wants to see me in right now), and scan the store for the pants section. I see skirts, tops, jeans,… and “active bottoms”. Okay, if I HAD an “active bottom”, I wouldn’t be in the position I am right now (which is owning only two pairs of pants that even remotely fit, one is maternity). Sigh… I must press on.
I located the right section and quickly picked out four pairs of jeans, in a couple different sizes and headed for the change rooms. I was feeling fairly optimistic at this point, despite the fact that I had two kids and a double stroller to maneuver into the change rooms. Yay for handicapped changing stalls!
I (foolishly, but again, optimistically) decided to try on the smallest size first, thinking, “Hey, if this one fits, I don’t need to try the others and I’ll feel great about myself!” S-T-U-P-I-D. “Great” was not what I felt when None of the four pairs fit. Back into my pants, maneuvered the stroller out, handed the four pairs to the lady at the counter, who cheerfully said,”Goodbye!” Oh, if only I was done.
Amazingly Moriah was behaving really well and Caleb slept through the entire thing.
This time I resigned myself to moving up a few sizes in my search. While doing this, a perky skinnier than Barbie girl further up the aisle said, “Tada!” as she grabbed a pair of skinny jeans triumphantly off the rack. By “skinny”, I mean, may Arms wouldn’t fit in the pant legs (which may have more to do with my huge muscles. But, I digress), Seriously!?! Why do they let people like that shop with the general public?? I selected four more pairs and headed back in. Again, failure on all counts. Moriah, at this point has decided that she will be my “helpful” little cheering squad (maybe all the groans and sighs of exasperation clued her in to my unhappiness?) She said things like, “Oh, those ones are sooo cute!”, (as the waist is hugging my lower thighs and refusing to move any further North), or, “Yay! Those ones fit!” (ya, these are the ones I walked in wearing, thanks a lot).
Back out, handed the pants back, and hurried away to save the woman at the counter from scrambling for something encouraging to say.
Strike three and I’m outta here, I fumed.
Wanting desperately just to get one whole leg into a pair, I chose four more pairs in two even larger sizes and headed back for the final round.
Frustrated, but no longer stupid, I just tore the largest size (6 sizes bigger than what I normally wear) off the hanger and jam my leg in. My foot actually made contact with the floor through the pant leg – with room left! Woohoo! Success at last (if not more than a little tainted). I pulled them completely on and decided with satisfaction that they were in fact, too Big! Wow, I was wondering if I’d Ever think that again. I tried on the next pair (now only four sizes too big for my normal body), and they were well, as close to perfect as it’s gonna get this side of 2012. I was elated. That was a purchase I hope to say goodbye to very soon!
*This story is only slightly less depressing in hindsight =)