(Alternate Title: You Know, Like You Always Are)
I decided that my July challenge was necessary because I had been feeling really blah about myself lately. Understandably: my baby was now one (there is no more margin for forgiveness of “I’ve just had a baby!”), I was still having to buy clothes in sizes much bigger than my pre-maternity wardrobe (which sits mournfully in Rubbermaid totes in my garage, and I no kidding visit it from time to time, pulling out clothes with whimsy and longing, and sigh over what I once was), and you know, it’s summer. While I’ve never ever felt especially slender or lithe, summer just brings the realization that Oh, honey, lithe should not even be in your vocabulary.
I realized, though, that I may be a bit hard on myself.
The first event was when I sent Bryan to pick up a tshirt for me. Our city was having their annual LGBT Pride parade and I really, really wanted a tshirt (even though I couldn’t attend). I asked him to pick up an XL for me, because that’s what I’m comfortable in. They only had Larges when he got there, so he told the vendor, “Well, I guess I’ll have to lose some weight to wear this, huh?” I heard Bryan retelling this story at a family gathering and my ears heard, “Well, my wife will have to lose some weight to wear this, won’t she?”
HE DID NOT SAY THAT. My mind twisted the words around and my heart broke. I whipped around with tears in my eyes and my whole family jumped to defend Bryan and talk me down.
Why did my mind hear that?
Then I had a dream a couple of nights later. Preface: we’ve been catching up on all four seasons of Game of Thrones (so, so good). I dreamed that I was a girl in Littlefinger’s (Lord Bayelish) brothel. Except my mind couldn’t quite make the jump to what Littlefinger looked like, so my pimp was this guy:
That’s right: my pimp was The Old One in the Backstreet Boys. (I’m sure he has a name.)
So, as if that’s not ridiculous enough – which, come on, right? Backstreet’s back, alright! – I was lined up with the other girls when a guy came in looking for a good time, and Old Dude was all, “Please, help yourself to whatever strikes your fancy.”
The guy glanced my way, and Backstreet said, “Oh, no, not that one. She’s our heavyweight. She’s only good for breeding.”
OH MY EFFING GOODNESS.
My psyche is so terrible to me! Why do we do that to ourselves?
HE’S A FREAKING BACKSTREET BOY, FOR PETE’S SAKE.
Anyway. In other news, I’m doing well on my challenge. I haven’t had any soda, only water and coffee (and occasionally coconut water) and unsweet tea. Turns out I rather hate unsweet tea, so I’ve only had that once or twice. I’ve eaten really, really clean. I haven’t noticed any difference at all anywhere – mentally or physically – but I’m sticking to my guns. (I’ve always gathered that it takes two weeks for any change to cycle through anyway.)
Also, I wore a bathing suit this past weekend. I debated not doing it, because ugh right?, but I wanted to say that I spent the weekend with my kids enjoying the holiday. So we did. No one (outside of my head) said a word to me about looking like a beached whale. Because I am – BY FAR – my own worst enemy.