I admit that I sometimes find solace in the inspirational posters that say crap like that. The grotesque, disfiguring pink and purple stripes that have now taken over my body are instantly transformed into something to be proud of..something honorable..when I see such a quote. Then I am brought back to reality. The full length mirror and the fluorescent light bulbs at Macy's do the trick every time.
I hate those mirrors. A few weeks ago I went to visit those dreadful beasts in an effort to try and find a cute sundress for a friend's wedding. Knowing that I just had a baby (Ha! 8 months ago), I thought I'd get a few that were one-two sizes too big at first..as a sort of ego boost. They didn't freaking fit. Even the one that looked like a damn tent on the hanger..did. not. fit.
Part of it is probably my refusal to diet, since my son's birth. After all, breastfeeding means you can eat anything you want and shed pounds like crazy..right? Wrong. I have remained at a number too inflated to ever admit to..for months now. My giant ass remains equally inflated.
The other part of my new dress size is due to these "awesome" giant boobs that I've dreamed of since adolescence. Sure, I'm a D-cup now...except when you are breastfeeding, the boobs aren't the perky, fun, porn star kind of big. They are more like the scary, veiny, floppy kind of big. Think African tribeswoman. You can't fit these puppies into anything. The fashion designers assume if your chest is this big, then the rest of you is equally gigantic. So the dress sizes that I now fit into are far from ego-boosting.
So there I am, swallowing what little dignity I have left in this world. Asking the nice saleswoman to exchange, what I previously thought were "gigantic" sizes, out for beluga whale sizes. While trying on one of the new dresses, sans bra, I noticed two weird bumps in the middle of the dress, about halfway between my chest and belly button, courtesy of those God forsaken mirrors. Upon further exploration, I discovered that those bumps were in fact, my nipples. How they ended up there is beyond me. Last time I checked, I'm 24 years old. Nipples don't start migrating south at 24, do they?
I promptly removed the dress. My poor son, who had been witness to the whole sordid affair began wailing. He had clearly had enough and we were both approaching nuclear meltdown status. As I stood there, trying to take all of this in: my giant ass, my ridiculous dress size, my wandering nipples, I noticed that I was standing in a wet puddle.
I was disgusted. Macy's has clearly gone down hill. Who just has puddles of some unknown substance sitting around in their dressing rooms. Nasty! Why hadn't I noticed it before? As I spun wildly around, searching for the source of the mysterious liquid, I noticed other puddles forming. What the...?
Then the dresses I had tried on began showing wet spots and even the stroller was soaked.
It wasn't until I turned to face those beastly mirrors again that I realized...it was me.
My giant tribeswoman breasts were responding to my son's desperate cries in the only way they knew how to..with milk. Lots and lots of milk. I did my best to staunch the flow..and quickly dressed and gathered my things. I sprinted out of the store with my son, leaving the milk-drenched fitting room and a hollering saleswoman in my wake.
I clearly didn't buy a dress that day. I don't believe I'll go clothing shopping again until I lose some of this "baby" weight. Next time..I think I will bring a towel too. With swimsuit season swiftly approaching, I'm starting to think that the burqa gets a bad rap. What's so wrong with being covered from head to toe?