This entry by Anne has been rattling around in my brain for days now. It kind of made me gasp because it seemed like she dropped in for a quick visit to my messy brain. No one ever talks about how to get used to suddenly having an entirely new body. Weight loss surgery is the closest we can come to that full body transplant that so many of us daydreamed about, you know? I can only imagine it is something akin to being told in the morning that you won a solo trip to Paris but you have to fly there that afternoon, so you end up desperately reading a phrase book and studying a map in order to be able to get around the city once you get there in between cycling bouts of sheer terror and total exhiliration.
I'm like Anne in that I've spent my life pretty happy with myself. For every moment of "Oh my god, my ass is stuck in this chair, I hope no one is looking at me", I have 5 moments of "My body is a work of art because it can do so much". I know every curve and every lump and every perfect and imperfect part of my body. I know that stretch bootcut jeans look awesome on me and that I can never go wrong with high heels or V-necks. I know what works for me and I know what doesn't.
I also know that my husband is a T&A man. His ideal female form has broad hips, a big, round butt and boobs out to there...natural boobs, not fake ones. So on top of the whole having to get used to an entirely new body in a short amount of time, I have this fear that he won't think I'm as sexy if I get too skinny, if I lose my ass and my boobs disappear. He says he doesn't see this as a problem, and reminds that he's also one of the few guys I know who thinks Nicole Kidman is sexy (such a dichotomy, my husband). He is, of course, hoping that I manage to keep the boobs; quite frankly, so am I. I think I can deal with the rest of my body changing so dramatically as long as I have some familiar landscape to look down at from time to time.
I'm not afraid of suddenly being visible; I've never, ever felt invisible. Doors are opened for me, customer service reps always take care of me, my employers have always treated me well. I've decided that it's because I'm pretty. It seems to be okay to be fat if you are conventionally pretty. I worry about what might happen once I've lost the weight and I'm pretty AND thin (if I stay pretty...after all, I might have a face that's only pretty when plump). Will anyone take me seriously? Or will the retired old Navy guys I work with suddenly see me as a piece of fluff that they don't have to listen to?
And other things. How will I know what to wear? How will I deal with suddenly being able to wear turtlenecks without fear of looking like I have 6 chins? Will I be able to restrain myself and only buy one pair of knee high black boots? What if my best friend doesn't recognize me since we only see each other once every few months? What if my cats start freaking out because I'm not soft and squishy anymore? It doesn't help wthat a (very well-meaning and very supportive) friend said "You're going to look weird skinny. You're not going to look like Melinda."
So the question becomes...who the hell will I look like?
I'm like Anne in that I've spent my life pretty happy with myself. For every moment of "Oh my god, my ass is stuck in this chair, I hope no one is looking at me", I have 5 moments of "My body is a work of art because it can do so much". I know every curve and every lump and every perfect and imperfect part of my body. I know that stretch bootcut jeans look awesome on me and that I can never go wrong with high heels or V-necks. I know what works for me and I know what doesn't.
I also know that my husband is a T&A man. His ideal female form has broad hips, a big, round butt and boobs out to there...natural boobs, not fake ones. So on top of the whole having to get used to an entirely new body in a short amount of time, I have this fear that he won't think I'm as sexy if I get too skinny, if I lose my ass and my boobs disappear. He says he doesn't see this as a problem, and reminds that he's also one of the few guys I know who thinks Nicole Kidman is sexy (such a dichotomy, my husband). He is, of course, hoping that I manage to keep the boobs; quite frankly, so am I. I think I can deal with the rest of my body changing so dramatically as long as I have some familiar landscape to look down at from time to time.
I'm not afraid of suddenly being visible; I've never, ever felt invisible. Doors are opened for me, customer service reps always take care of me, my employers have always treated me well. I've decided that it's because I'm pretty. It seems to be okay to be fat if you are conventionally pretty. I worry about what might happen once I've lost the weight and I'm pretty AND thin (if I stay pretty...after all, I might have a face that's only pretty when plump). Will anyone take me seriously? Or will the retired old Navy guys I work with suddenly see me as a piece of fluff that they don't have to listen to?
And other things. How will I know what to wear? How will I deal with suddenly being able to wear turtlenecks without fear of looking like I have 6 chins? Will I be able to restrain myself and only buy one pair of knee high black boots? What if my best friend doesn't recognize me since we only see each other once every few months? What if my cats start freaking out because I'm not soft and squishy anymore? It doesn't help wthat a (very well-meaning and very supportive) friend said "You're going to look weird skinny. You're not going to look like Melinda."
So the question becomes...who the hell will I look like?
2 Comments:
I bet you will look like a lady who is brave and healthy and who has way too many boots. Because holy shit am I there with you, on the knee-high boots thing.
(And thanks for liking my entry!)
Man, I will probably never be able to wear the knee-high boots. My grandfather - 165 @ 5'11" - never could wear knee-high boots and always had to worry about bursting the thigh seams of his pants. Thanks, Granddad!
Seriously, the buttshelf goes, but you may not get elephant ass. I'm not sure about the boobs tho. I've gone from like a 50 F to a 42 G. G as in "ground floor" might I add. DH loves 'em but I'd hate to have them become like a yeast magnet.
Eeew.
*S*
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