'Twas the Sixth Day After Christmas

The other day I noticed that December is all about acquisition: calories and pounds from all the treats and meals out because you can’t handle the idea of cooking anything more than hot chocolate and maybe some popcorn; stuff, starting with decorations and ending with gifts; and things (like clothes and gadgets) that you buy for yourself but you really should be buying for other people. Or maybe that last one is just a personality defect of my own. Because I don’t usually shop for new things, I’m always amazed at what’s out there. I mean, did you know there are kitchen contraptions that can make quesadillas? And bags that will preserve your produce and bread and lunch meat much better than the refrigerator alone, and felt pads you can put on the bottom of your china cabinet so that you slide it across the room without asking for your husband’s help, who would probably ask why you wanted to move the china cabinet anyway? And pills that can help you shed those unwanted pounds in a mere weekend? And dresses that have support panels built in to tame that belly full of jelly (and cookies, and chocolates, and turkey, and stuffing, and pies and cakes).

Incidentally, I tried on one of those “slimming” dresses while I was Christmas shopping for someone else. After nearly dislocating a shoulder trying to put the thing on, I turned sideways to the mirror and discovered that my belly would require more than just a spandex panel to flatten it. Instead of three months pregnant, I looked more like I had a two month old fetus in there, curled up in a ball like my sleeping cat. The only things the dress appeared to have any effect on were my legs, which were smashed together, making it impossible to walk without looking like a toddler with both legs shoved through one pant leg. 

I remembered an incident years before, when I had just moved into the area. One of the first few Sundays at church, a woman asked me if I was pregnant. I was not. “No, just fat,” I replied. That reminded me of a similar experience a few years prior to that when a different woman, while staring at my stomach, asked the same question. Only she asked it slower, as if she were really trying to come up for an explanation for my protruding stomach: “Are you…,” pause here, while she tilted her head and really pondered my belly, which at that moment was encased in a pair of overall shorts. Granted, I had just eaten a hearty dinner of five pancakes, but still. The woman started her question again, “Are you…pregnant?” I could just see myself at church wearing this clingy dress with its insufficient support panel, my legs wrapped in spandex saran, waddling down the hall in heels. I work with children at church now. If grown-ups can ask me if I’m expecting, children would have no qualms with saying, “Is there a baby in your tummy?”   

At this thought, I turned my back to the mirror, wiggled and tugged and yanked and contorted until I could get out of that stupid dress. As I finally pulled it over my head,  my hair crackled with electricity and my shoulders popped. I wadded the dress up in a ball and threw it on the little bench in the dressing room, where the slippery material slithered off onto the floor. Though I said nothing out loud, in my mind, I yelled, “Nottafinga!” “Son of a Nutcracker!” and “Crap!”  (Lest you think I left the dress there in a sad little heap of cheap material (I concluded that was part of the problem, you see. The material would only look good on a mannequin, or maybe a Barbie doll), I did put it back on its hanger, and returned it to its proper place. But not without cursing again.)

But I digress. What I meant to say is that now that December is over, we can get down to the business of January, which is all about getting rid of stuff and starting over. So here it is, six days into the month and I’m still trying to decide what this year’s projects will be. Should I join a gym? Do a 21-day detox? De-clutter my house (again)? Reorganize the kids’ rooms? Start running again? Read a book each week? Stock my freezer with meals for a month? 

What’s that you say? The stockings are still hung by the chimney with care? And the tree is still sparkling and beautiful, yet taking up much needed space in the living room? And nobody has any clean clothes because I haven’t done the laundry in two weeks? Well, I guess that’s a good place to start. But I have to say, this feels an awful lot like December.

Comments

[MaryB]

Please! If you look pregnant at all, then I must look about ready to deliver! I'm having a hard getting the will power to make myself exercise! However, Allie did talk me into doing a little bit of the ab workout and some yoga this morning and it didn't kill me! I just might be able to do it again tomorrow! (Crossing my fingers!)

[LauraB.]

You make me laugh! You are so skinny, I can't imagine anyone thinking that you are pregnant. I, myself, have been asked a few times by different people. The last one was a couple of years ago. I must have been standing funny sticking my gut out, because I can't imagine someone thinking a 46 year old woman wanted to be pregnant! I apologize to any 46 year old out there that I may have just offended. I'm looking forward to having grandkids now.