I try hard not to put a number to my body. Size __ in jeans. __ pounds on the scale. I try REALLY hard not to let those number define me. But this past year, after I gave birth to my daughter, I have given into those numbers yet again.
I went up two jean sizes this past year. I knew my body would change after having a second baby, but every grueling month of trying to fit back into those size 8 jeans was horrific. I cried. I told myself that I could not buy any clothes because I was going to lose the weight. I was going to fit back into those jeans.
But I didn’t. I still haven’t.
I blame Raising Canes for coming into the area. Their bread just gets me every time. I blame every snack in my cupboard that sits there and taunts me all day, but I avoid it, at least until 9:00 at night when I’m relaxing on the couch. Then I go full force, because all mamas know that you hide your best snacks until the kids go to bed. I blame our busy lives, as it is so much easier to just grab something from the drive-thru instead of trying to cook a full on meal that will get half eaten and half thrown away, no matter how many times we say we’ll eat the leftovers. I blame the couch, the lack of exercise, water that doesn’t taste like coffee, stress, so much stress. I blame all of these things for my jean size… and they all point back at me. Because these are the habits that I have created. These are what I surround my life with.
So I decided this week that it’s time for a change. I got up every morning before the kids and worked out. I went on a walk everyday. I went on multiple walks everyday. I drank a gallon of water everyday. I cooked meals; I snacked at night less. All this week, and I felt good… but then I went to my doctor’s appointment. I found out that I had GAINED weight since giving birth. For whatever reason, this shocked me. Even with all of my bad habits, I didn’t think it was possible to GAIN weight after a pregnancy. Was I really THAT bad this year? That threw my whole self motivation week off. I was ticked.
To give a little backstory, I have never in my life been a size 2. I barely ever remember being a size 4-6. Maybe it’s because there was a simpler day when I didn’t even pay attention to my pant size. What I would give to go back to those days. No, I have always had the thighs that could strike a soccer ball but could never imitate a hot dog in a picture. (Look that up if you don’t know what I’m talking about.) But I could live with that. I have thick thighs and I learned to be okay with them. However, never in my life had I had the midsection that would droop over my pants after snapping them on. Never in my life could I see every roll in my stomach and waste when wearing a fitted dress. NEVER IN MY LIFE… until after my second child. And I let every one of those rolls define who I was. I let those rolls tell me that I wasn’t good enough. That I would never be back to my size 8 body so don’t even try. I let those rolls take away from the fact that my body gave freaking birth to two little humans. I let them ruin WHO I WAS.
I went to Old Navy to get the kids some fall clothes. I honestly had no intentions of even looking at clothes for myself, but when you see 50% off throughout the store, yuh gotta just take a look, right? I tried to stray away from the jeans, as mentioned above they were basically my enemy right now and I hated even looking at them and getting dissappointed. But I literally ran into a stand that had clearance jeans on them. “Just take a peak” I said to myself. Of course, the sizes were all mixed up, so I had to dig through all of the size 00 and 2s, pushing them away as I knew not to even look at them. I finally found a pair of jeans in my size that I actually really, really liked. I looked at the price tag, thinking that even on clearance they probably wouldn’t even be worth buying.
There is no flipping way a pair of jeans like this is less than $4. I grabbed the nearest worker I could find and asked her if this was a mistake. When she told me it was right, I immediately thought “What’s wrong with them?” So, I did what I never, ever do… and went to the changing room to try them on. Because there’s really, just really no way these jeans are that perfect and there’s not a single thing wrong with them.
That’s what they were. I tried them on. Every part of my thick thighs and big booty and mom hips and every roll fit into them perfectly. The buttons snapped. I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO ROLL THEM AT THE BOTTOM!!! (short people problems.) They were with-out-a-doubt perfect in every way. They are my magical jeans that made me look and feel so good about myself. Cue tears.
A pair of perfect, magical, size 10 jeans made me realize that my worth isn’t a number on the tag. It isn’t the number on the scale. I’m a size ME: beautifully and wonderfully made. Full of sass and attitude. Made of bread and coffee. Filled with grace, joy and love that the Good Lord so kindly and passionately gives to me. Created to be a mama and a wife and a girl that just wants everybody to love themselves. To find the magic in a pair of jeans that was created just fo me.
$3.97 and the love of a good God. That’s all it took.
Find your size ME.