Putting on my REALLY Big Girl Underpants

I had my first real "OMG, I HAVE TURNED INTO A WHALE!" hysterical melt down the other day. A friend took a picture of Les and me dancing like goons while we put new ornaments on the Christmas tree. A picture in profile. While silly dancing. Not standing upright, with good posture, and proper hip alignment. To my horror, I realized that I had gone from "I can barely even tell you're expecting!" to "Is this, like, your third kid?" in the span of two weeks.

The photo revealed a much bigger version of me than I had really let myself see. I was in a bit of denial. Needless to say, my friend removed the photo from Facebook and I had to be coddled and comforted for a good 30 minutes before I could even try to laugh it off. I spent 28 of those 30 minutes crying in the bathroom in front of the mirror.

It's a baby, not blubber. I know. She's healthy, I'm healthy. I know. Les thinks I look cute. That's fantastic.

But I have been self conscious and hyper critical of my body since 5th grade. I started hating - I mean truly HATING - my body one summer day between 8th grade and freshman year of high school, when I overheard a friend of my friend Nicole point to me in a photo and ask "Who's the fat girl?". That moment sparked almost two decades of dieting, food-obsession, self-shaming negative body image that became a firm fixture of the way I saw myself, even when I was healthy and in decent shape. It has really only been in the last five years that I stopped with the nonstop negative self-talk. It's amazing how quickly those old well-worn ruts of loathing can return. They were almost 20 years in the making, after all.

Oh, and it's going to get worse. I know it! If I had a dollar for every time someone reminded me; "Just wait! You're going to get so much bigger!"... The other day I stepped on the scale (sidebar: I KNOW, I don't need to do that, and I should stop) and saw the largest number I have EVER seen in my life. I spent the rest of that day sipping homemade fruit smoothies and eating raw veggies and vegetable soup. Don't freak out and call DCFS on me. The next day I was so hungry from my mini-diet that I went out to Target JUST to buy a bag of mint M&Ms and then had french fries for dinner.

I'm try to keep a healthier balance. I do a yoga DVD a couple of times a week, and I have very good intentions about walking on the treadmill every day. But it is hard. It is so so so so so hard to watch your midsection expand and not say mean things to yourself in the mirror. It is hard to avoid the pre-emptive freak out over how I'm going to lose all this weight eventually. And it is hard to look at your lovely clothes and not be able to fit into any of them anymore. There are, I grant you, some cute maternity clothes out there. My maternity jeans are cuter, better cut, and more flattering than my regular jeans. I have a couple of cute maternity dresses that I do not hate wearing. My shoes still fit, thank the Lord. And blingy necklaces will never be too tight. But the hideous, uncomfortable bras! The belly-draping tent-like blouses! The horror of realizing it is time to buy new panties.

Yes, I had to do it. Bought 6 new pair of Giant Sized underpants yesterday, and teared up a little at the checkout. You who know me know how much I love my pretty undies. Some days, they have been the only thing about me that felt pretty or feminine. And now... now, I must wear the Giant Underpants. I got some cute-ish pairs from Target (of course) that I actually do not hate. But I'm not sure they will be big enough to make it through the next 4 months of this expansion. Please, sweet baby Jesus, do not make me have to buy the ugly, solid color, stretches up past your navel Granny Panties. It is an indignity I could not bear. And from everything I hear about late pregnancy, labor, and early mommahood, I have plenty of other unspeakable indignities ahead of me. Please please let me keep my pretty knickers.