All my favorite summer shirts have shrunk.
Last night I put on my favorite linen shirt, and once I exhaled, could see my pale white belly flesh poking out between the buttons. It was gross and fascinating all at the same time. But mostly gross.
|This could be me. It isn't. |
But it could be.
Luckily I recently bought a fabulous smock-y type thing that I was able to wear, but pants were another problem. The smart little Levi demi curve skinny jeans that I wore all last summer still do up, but ONLY if I arrange my tummy/boobs to hang over the waistband. Even then it’s hard to sit down, and crossing my legs is out of the question.
But nobody really wants to hear my bellyaching. Probably because I have been whining about my weight since I was sixteen, and it’s gotten boring. And because the girlfriends who have gone through pregnancies don’t get hung up on temporary weights. There are enough mid life crisis’s out there – and low on the sympathy list is someone who has been exceedingly well fed.
Still, it’s hard to believe entire season of clothes is too small. But what’s really hard to believe is that, in five and a half short weeks from now, my belly will be up around my armpits. (Ouch!). Post surgery I expect to have all sorts of swelling and weirdness, as things settle into place.
Followed, God willing, by a flat belly. The non-aching type.