The company Christmas party: maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about my husband’s company Christmas party that invokes equal parts excitement and dread.
Excitement: because my husband’s company is awesome and his coworkers are a blast to hang out with. There is always great food and to be honest it’s one of the very few times I get to dress up and go out with my husband without a child tagging along. I get to just be me, not mom. I get to be the Lizzy before baby, I get to wear an outfit that won’t be smeared with snot and food stains in a matter of minutes. I don’t have to share my food. Oh, bliss!
Dread: because out of all the women who work with my husband or are in some way connected to a coworker and come to the company functions, I am the most voluptuous. I am serious; all the women are a size 4 or smaller and gorgeous. And just to give you a frame of reference, I am a comfortable size 12, a “suck-that-gut-in” size 10, and a “better wear two pairs of spanx” size 8.
“But you’re gorgeous.”
“People love you for your personality not your size.”
“Men like a women with some meat on her bones.”
“But Dean thinks you are gorgeous no matter what.”
Yea, yea, yea, save it. Because here is the thing, the fact of the matter is this: I am still, at the very least and with two pairs of spanx, double the size of the biggest woman there. And this year I am pregnant.
Last year I had a blast and stopped thinking about my size halfway through my second martini. But this year I can’t drink (and the fact that that is such a huge deal is an issue for another time). I have to face this insecurity head on and without booze…and with an unspecified amount of extra poundage (I’m too scared to get on the scale). Sure, some of that poundage is a little miracle with a cute little bump, but most of that poundage is grilled cheese, chipotle burritos, and fountain root beer.
And as trivial as it sounds, the main issue here is “what am I going to wear?” How do I effectively sport my cute baby bump while simultaneously melting 20-ish pounds off my hips, waist, boobs, and butt with a single outfit? Has this not been invented yet? We could call it the lipo-suit or something.
Anyway, I am fully aware that it’s more about “my smile” or “being confident” and no one will even notice what I am wearing. But is that even true? And plus how do I genuinely smile when all I can think of is “I feel like a whale standing next to this gorgeous specimen of a woman” or “are they thinking, ‘here comes skinny and fatty; how did Dean end up with such a chubber?’” How do I exude confidence when I can feel every part of my body jiggle when I walk or laugh?
In my head, I know it’s all about transforming my thoughts and getting rid of toxic thought patterns and all that stuff. But, I only have a week to do that and my heart is just…disheartened? Becoming okay with my body type has taken me years! And that “feeling okay” fell apart the second I could no longer work out or eat like I used to due to this pregnancy. For weeks I would just throw up all the time, and I had no energy. Now that I am not constantly sick, I feel helpless to my cravings of fountain root beer, melty cheese, and bacon.
And right now, that’s all I got. I don’t have an answer. I don’t have fix. I don’t have a mushy gushy “God loves me” bible verse. I don’t have a special workout plan or a transforming thought. Right now I just have this worry about my body and what others think of it. I have this fear that I’m going to ruin an awesome night because of my insecurities. I have a fear that whatever I choose to wear won’t be enough to make my husband say those three words I long to hear, “You. Look. Beautiful.” I have a fear that if he does say those words I won’t believe him.
Normally, I would channel that energy and go for a run or do some yoga. Just doing those activities makes me feel better about myself. But right now, it’s just so hard. I have a million excuses and two babies (one in utero) that make both of those activities a lot harder. Summoning up the energy to pack my toddler into a running stroller (and pump up the leaky tire) takes way more effort than just wanting to go for a run. And running with a stroller suuuuuucccckkkks. Not to mention that running while pregnant just makes me feel like I’m going to pee my pants the whole time, and I can’t even go very far before I have to stop. Rolling out my yoga mat seems easier, but the amount of mental energy it takes to remind myself that I won’t be able to do what I could, that it’s okay that baby is in the way and I’m not getting a full stretch, that it’s perfectly normal that my balance is so off and I can’t hold any poses, is unreal! It’s exhausting being in my head. And that is all without a toddler crawling and hanging all over me. So the reality of working out is this…I don’t want to, it’s emotionally and mentally exhausting and I’m already so tired.
Anyway, I’m rambling. Here’s to finding that magic outfit, eh?