If the Dress Fits

I’ve been on this quest the past five months or so to lose some extra “baby weight.” This is the point in my story where I should disclose that my “baby” turned seven this week. Needless to say, I’m way over due to reclaim my body.

When I was in high school, I was turned down as a blood donor. Seems I didn’t meet their minimum weight requirement. But after two kids and nearly nineteen years of marriage, I’ve put on a few more pounds than I’d care to admit. Nothing horrific, but disturbing enough to catch my attention.

Over the past few months I’ve managed, with diet and exercise, to drop a respectable thirty five pounds and I’m proud to say, I’ve met my original goal. While I’d never even want to get back to my former weight in high school, I’m actually not that far away from what I weighed on my wedding day.

Enter the dress.

The floor length, ruffled organza flowing skirt, with it’s fitted bodice with built in bust cups, has been relegated to the back of my closet for close to twenty years now, never donned since that blissful day. And for some unknown, hair-brained reason, (although I suspect the couple of glasses of wine may have had something to do with it) I decided to dig it out the other day and try it on.  Just for kicks.

As if I wasn’t enough of a glutton for punishment, I thought; wouldn’t it be fun if I made myself a new goal? One that involved fitting into my wedding dress by our anniversary date which is another five months away.

Now, what’s important to realize is that the simple act of trying on the dress was a feat I would have been much too chicken to attempt even just a month ago.  But, I dove in head first–actually I initially tried feet first and found it didn’t work too well–and slipped it on again, only this time around I was able to enlist the help of my husband without anxiety over superstitious retribution.

The only negative aftereffect was the realization that it didn’t fit.

I was mere inches away from the back zipper closing. Whether the physicality of carrying two babies or age or gravity or a combination of all the above, it seems it wouldn’t even matter if I was 0% body fat, there is no way that zipper is ever closing again. My ribcage, along with a neighboring pair of gravitationally challenged body parts, apparently aren’t small enough anymore.

Am I disappointed? No. Not really. I’m happy with how far I’ve come. Despite the fact that it’s out of style, I’m not planning on having the occasion to wear the dress; I’m happy with the guy I’ve got. And besides that, I’ve got the best two reasons in the world for not being able to fit back into that dress.

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