Who Wears the Pants in This Family?
Cynthia Roelle, mom to a 2-year-old daughter and award-winning photographer, shares her saga to lose the “baby weight” and reunite with her formerly slender self.
After nearly three years of being too fat to fit into anything I own, I’m happy to report I’ve lost some weight. I’m not ready to say how much, but enough that this past weekend I decided to foray into my closet to take stock of my pants. We’re talking about pants that haven’t seen the light of day for years.
I tried on every last pair, even ones I knew would never make it over my hips. Here’s what I have, by pile:
Pile 1 is the A-Girl-Can-Dream pile. These pants are at least 10 years old and are deplorably out of style. I will almost surely never again fit into a single pair on this pile, but the skinny girl in me can’t bring herself to part with them.
Pile 2 is the Picture-of-Fitness pile. All of the pants in this pile fit, oh, a mere six years ago. I bought them when I said goodbye to the Army and traded in my uniforms for girl clothes. This is my goal pile, though I should probably step up the Fitness if they’re ever going to fit again.
Pile 3 is the Denial pile. I bought these around the time the clothing manufacturers started monkeying with the sizes (as if there was ever a standard). That was back when size 8 was the new size 4.
Pile 4 is the I’ve-Already-Lost-a-Full-Pant-Size-and-I’m-Pretty-Happy-About-It pile. I bought these somewhere between my Denial and Fat-Ass stage. This is my current go-to pile.
Pile 5 is the Fat-Ass pile. It consists of the two pair of threadbare jeans I’ve been wearing since my daughter was born. That was two years ago. T-W-O.
Last but not least is Pile 6, the What-I-Would-Wear-if-I-Were-to-Workout pile. It’s also known as the Pajama pile.
Okay, so once I went through all these, I was ready to stash them back in the closet when my daughter woke from her nap. I went off to get her and forgot about the pants.
Fast forward a few hours. My husband came home and headed upstairs to change.
“Are these my pants?” he shouted.
Instant sinking feeling. My pants were still on the bed.
“I don’t know, what pants are they?” I bellowed back.
“They’re Old Navy…khakis.”
Ahh crap. Pile 3. Denial. Top of the heap.
What happened next is not something I’m proud of. I sprinted upstairs and there he stood wearing my pants.
ARGHHHHH! And to make matters worse, THEY WERE TOO BIG ON HIM! God help me.
Me: “No they’re not your pants! Take them off! TAKE THEM OFF!”
This is not the confidence boost I was hoping for when I got the bright idea to try on pants. But at least I have a new goal: look better in my pants than my husband does.