From indignant and politically aware to superficial in less than an hour.

I need new clothes; that or a new body. What I really need is my clothes to match my body. When I stand in the bathroom in my all-together, I don’t feel very bad. I think to myself, “okay, I need to lose some weight, I have lost my muscle tone, but all in all, I’m not so bad. I’m proportionate, my scars are healing, everything matches. I feel curvy, but I’m okay. And then I remind myself that Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe both shared the same dimensions as myself, and they are still known as icons of beauty; I feel excellent.

And then I get dressed. Oui. COMPLETE DISASTER. Me jeans are too long. My shirts are too short. Everything clings in all the wrong places. There is nothing that can be done with these giant melons on the front. My waist and my hips have all but melded into one. Childbirth has shifted everything into a new geographic region.

What is the story with my face? Where did my chin go? And the arms! What are those?!? They look like pancakes dangling from a nail!

How is it that just five minutes ago in my birthday suit, I was feeling so confident? And yet now, I feel the only thing suitable for me to wear is a brown paper bag or a mechanics jump suit? (and believe me, if I could wear the jumpsuit, I would, those things are dang comfy!)

I have shopped; I have followed the advice of the fashion people. I have watched “What Not to Wear.”

I wear fitted shirts, I don’t wear the “mom jeans.” I layer to create the “illusion of dimension;” everything they tell me to do.
I buy petite length pants, and those not petites, I’ve had tailored to my length. Yet somehow, everything just makes me feel like I look like a big blob.

I know this is all ridiculous and unimportant. But if I just could wear a jumpsuit, you know, like Rosie the Riveter, I think I would really feel a great deal better.