a photo may say a thousand words: here are mine

I already know that some people may actually be a touch offended by some of my thoughts on this subject.  I am aware that I'm being a touch judge-y when it isn't, at ALL, my place to do so.

When I see photos of online acquaintances in which they are significantly heavier than when I last saw them, I cannot help but feel sad, (and a touch curious.)  ME, feeling sad that people, like myself!, have gained weight.  It's dumb.  It's judgmental.  It's none of my goddamn business.  But I start to wonder, "what happened?"  "Did they injure themselves?"  "Are they dealing with depression?"  "Did they just let themselves go?"  Again--none of my business.

In the event that I'm not alone.  In the event that even some of MY online friends and acquaintances are thinking, "HA! Irony of ironies!  What the f*ck happened to you, lardass?" here is my situation.

I have never been skinny.  Never.  Not a day.  But I'm glad of that fact, honestly.  Skinny doesn't necessarily mean "healthy" or even "pretty" in my world.  It, in my world, means thin to the point of boney protrusions.  It does not mean "unhealthy" by default, but it could.

Oh, no.  I have always been a bit soft around the edges.  But not until adulthood did I get actually fat.  That never stopped anyone from calling me fat when I was younger, though.  I was often picked on as a child, always for things well out of my control such as my last name, my height, and their warped perceptions of reality.

As an aside, I can recall a time--when I was at one of my smallest points in my adult life, of course--when complete strangers, a car full of them, took the time to roll down their windows and insult me for my "big ass."  I was a size 9, and all that I had done was have the gaul to be out in public.  How dare I?!  Yeah.  Not so good times.  Not the first time to be put down by strangers for my appearance.  Neither the last.

Aside from genetics, I can easily blame the lousy eating habits I picked up as a child for my size.  When I was able to have my own household, I made a conscious effort to learn good food habits.  I recognized a connection between what I ate and my overall health.  I noticed that the many folks in my family struggling with weight issues were also, often, the ones who ate poorly.  I decided that I did not want to be one of those people.  I became a pescatarian, abstaining from eating any pork, beef, chicken, lamb, et cetera.  I did eat the occasional fish or seafood.  Within a month of changing my diet, I lost fifteen pounds.

I wavered a little bit at that weight for several years.  I'd gain a pound or two, lose a pound or two.  I had a physically demanding job.  I was in pretty good shape without needing to focus on eating a certain way (other than my eventual vegetarian diet), nor needing to worry about exercise.  But that all changed when my career drastically changed.  I went from standing and moving for hours on end to sitting at a desk for eight hours a day.  My clothes began to feel snug.  Favorite pants that had always been flattering were suddenly unsightly for the roll of skin that bulged over the waist.  And then I started to see photos of myself.  Particularly, candid photos.  Did I REALLY look like that?  Was I REALLY that big?  It was too much.  I started saving my pennies and I signed up for Weight Watchers.

For the first time in my life, I was putting serious limits on how much I could eat.  I did nothing else.  I didn't exercise, I just altered my eating.  Foods in my pantry started carrying the words "low fat," or "fat free."  Diet soda replaced regular.  Subway became my favorite "quick-fix" meal.  The pounds melted away.

I can still recall feeling confused, and even doubting the experiences of some of my fellow Weight Watchers.  They complained of occasional struggles.  Surely, they couldn't have been following the program as well as I was.  It was so easy!  I could still have a donut every Friday morning and lose weight.  I could still eat dessert from time to time.  The weight just kept coming off.

I did eventually hit a plateau about five pounds from my goal.  After a few weeks of struggling, my WW leader suggested that re-evaluate my goal.  I was currently in the healthy weight range for my age and height.  Did I really want to be any lighter?  Would I be able to be happy eating even fewer calories every day?  I decided that I was already starting to feel a touch deprived, and revised my goal.  After a few weeks of maintenance, I was labeled a Lifetime Member.

(Ironically, in the weeks following my decision to revise my goal, the pounds started to come off again.)

So there I was--a Lifetime Member.  I was CURED, right?  No longer fat.  No longer heavy.  I was getting crazy compliments on my looks, on my weight loss.  I was often asked questions like, "what's your secret?" "How did you do it?" Of course, most of the folks that asked the question, really didn't like my answer.  My "fix" wasn't quick enough, wasn't easy enough, took too much time and too much work.  Years later, I'd agree.

I remained a Lifetimer for a couple of years.  I moved, and stopped going to meetings, but I was otherwise doing an okay job of maintaining my weight.  Then I really mucked up the works--I changed careers again.

Going back to school meant that I was grabbing food on the go.  I stopped measuring portions.  I stopped counting points.  I started gaining weight.  It was a slow gain, but within a couple of years, I was back to my pre-Weight Watchers weight, only this time I convinced myself that I looked okay.  Sure, I was heavy, but I was a good-looking heavy!  And while I told myself this lie, I still felt awful.  I felt broken.  I felt like I blew it.

From time to time, I would eat a little better.  Or, I'd say, "the heck with eating right, I'll just exercise this time."  While I might lose a few pounds, the loss was never lasting.  Additionally, every medical physical I'd have showed me to be crazy healthy chemically.  No diabetes, not even a hint.  No cholesterol trouble.  No heart disease.  I started to think that maybe I was just meant to be fat.

When I had been pregnant with my daughter, I was terrified about gaining weight after she was born.  I'd witnessed a few women go from being fit, beautiful ladies into being heavy, dowdy moms.  By jove, I was NOT going to let that happen.  So I didn't.  While I did gain a significant amount of weight during pregnancy, I lost it all postpartum thanks to a vigorous job and a fair amount of exercise.

When I became pregnant with my son, I knew that I was already starting off heavy.  As such, I kept tabs on my weight gain.  I knew that I needed to gain weight to have a healthy pregnancy, but I also was not about to go crazy-go-nuts and eat everything save New Jersey.  At each prenatal visit, my gains were right on track.  I gained exactly what I should have gained--even less than what I had gained when pregnant with my daughter!  I knew that the difference of 17+ years would affect my postpartum weight loss, but I was already feeling great knowing that I'd have less to lose to get back to pre-pregnancy weight.

Alas, it didn't quite work out that way.  I was on track for getting back into pre-pregnancy shape when I was hit with a devastating betrayal of trust.  The stress of that situation brought my weight loss to a halt, and brought with in a weight gain.  I was in agony.  I was trying SO. HARD. to lose weight, but was seeing the numbers go up and not down.  Soon I was recognizing that I didn't have all the answered.  Sure, I'd lost weight before.  Of course, I should know what to do to do it again.  But it wasn't working.  I decided that I needed help and I returned to Weight Watchers.

I've since learned why those other members in other meetings struggled, and it wasn't because they weren't on plan.  I've since learned that getting older means working harder for smaller gains.  I've since learned that I can do it--I AM doing it--and that I really do need the meetings.  I've also learned that the answer isn't replacing my pantry with "fat free" items or diet anything.  I've learned that I need to eat REAL food, like Michael Pollan says: not too much, and mostly plants.  I've also learned that I'm much better when I exercise.

While I've lost over twenty pounds, I'm still heavy now.  There may be some folks who, upon seeing recent photos of me, are thinking, "Damn, she's big.  She was so fit a few years ago."  Well, they're right.  But I also know that I'm working towards a real, and lasting change.  I know that I'm a product--a reflection--of all the struggles and stress I've had the last few years.

I write this because it helps ME to recognize that those folks who, like me, are heavier today than they were weeks/months/years ago are also a product of their travails.  And who am I to judge them?!  So, while I may feel sad, I need to recognize that they might not.  They, too, might be working towards a goal.  They, too, might be proud of their efforts.  And they, too, just might be heavy now--but have still done so much good for themselves.  Who am I to judge?

Do you struggle with image issues?

[the medieval hausfrau] a clothing conundrum

I took some time this weekend to be "The Medieval Hausfrau."

Well, okay, that isn't quite true.  But "The Early Period Hausfrau" doesn't play on the name of this blog quite as well.

Viking-era 

I decided to pull out and wear a Viking-era dress and apron that I made years ago.  Viking-era clothing is certainly more comfortable than my usual Tudor-era garb, and as temperatures are getting warmer and warmer, I wanted to insure comfort.

Tudor-era

Unfortunately, I looked awful.  While much of my ghastly appearance could be directly attributed to my status as "Mom of a Toddler," some could not.  The dress just did not fit.  That's the bad news.  The good news is that my dress did not fit because it was too big.  I've lost too many inches for it look flattering, apparently.  The fullness of the skirt and apron were just perfect for casting my figure in a very prenatal light, apparently.  Thank GOODNESS no one asked me if I was pregnant.

In light of this new conundrum, I realize that I need to get behind my sewing machine again.  Frankly, I would LOVE to be sewing, but again my role as "mom" keeps me busy in just such a way to make sewing difficult when it's only the boy and I at home.  Since I have to be choosy about when I am able to sew, I think it best that I be selective about what to sew.

Bliaut

Prior to Declan, if a period silhouette caught my eye, I sewed up a basic dress.  As such, I have a couple of bliauts, a couple of Gothic fitted dresses, a couple of Viking-era dresses, some later period kirtles and over gowns, too.  Post-Declan I have to be particular and I am faced with a decision or two.

For anyone unfamiliar with the Society for Creative Anachronism, I'll provide a (very) brief summation of why I am even discussing old clothing.  My husband and I participate in a history group that attempts to recreate much of daily life, without the bad things like plague, for people who lived in the periods between 600 and 1600 AD.  So, I need something to wear when we gather en masse for a "war" or even for a day-event such as a local tournament or feast.  

14th century with hood

While some participants will stick closely to one particular time period and location, some will outfit themselves with clothes from multiple countries and multiple periods (as evidenced from my own collection outlined above).  As my free time for sewing and my closet space shrinks, I have to rein in my own "oooh, shiny" magpie behavior in favor of something more focused.  No more games of "pick a period" from my closet.

14th century

Since my preferred era clothing is not always the most comfortable for outdoor day events, I think I can justify picking two periods to focus on.  But now comes the hard part: which two?  Tudor era is the easy choice, it's filling in the other that leaves me frustrated.

Do I go with 14th century "high Medieval" to make use of the fitted gowns I currently have (but would likely need to alter)?  Do I go with something earlier to better match my husband's persona and interests?  Do I go with something altogether different?  ARGH.  Have I mentioned that I am not the best at making decisions?

On a perhaps related note, why do I always look so terrible in SCA photos?!  The best of the lot is the one with Declan in it.

Photos nabbed ages ago from Facebook, by the way.  Alas, I've forgotten the photographers by now.   If they're yours and you'd credit, please let me know.  

a smattering of updates

Video blog update has been made!  Find it here.

This is the pattern I am basing my ball dress on.

My life in the last week has been focused on sewing, sewing, and more sewing.  And all for the same damned "easy" garment.  Deciding that I would rather sew than buy this year's ball dress, I've been busy stitching up the thing whenever I can.  See?  That's the key--whenever I can.  This whole mom of an infant business has been limiting my time in front of the Bernina to maybe an hour or two a day.  Plus this past weekend we were out of the house due to multiple obligations.  I had hoped to be able to sew a couple of outfits.  Now I'll be lucky to finish one!

I am, of course, quite disappointed to be faced with so few garment options for this year's Queen Mary Art Deco Festival, but that is just the reality of a postpartum body.  Most of the pieces in my closet do not fit at the moment.  With the help of some foundation garments, I can barely fit into a couple of dresses that were on the larger side.  That will have to do.

(Oh, how I wish that What Katie Did's Hollywood location were opening a few days earlier.  Alas, but I will be there when then do open next week!)

At any rate, I'll be enjoying myself this weekend whether or not I'm in the most wonderful Deco-era clothes or not.  I must remember that my friends are not going to be judging me upon each and every ensemble I throw together.  

Declan will be spend two days with his auntie while we are "away."  I'm equally excited and nervous.  Excited that he'll be able to spend time with family, nervous that I'm going to miss him like mad.  I know that I need to spend some time away from him.  Recharge my batteries and all that.  But he is such the focus of my everyday that I know I will constantly wonder what he is doing.  Thank heavens for technology, I will be able to ask for photos and updates via text.

Casting a Light

I need accountability if I'm going to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight before Declan is a toddler.  As such, I've decided to start a video blog (aka vlog) to hopefully shame myself into doing what I know that I can do but have so far been to lazy to do.

A few weeks ago, I signed up for an online "bootcamp" specific for moms.  In those past few weeks, though, I've only succeeded in half-assing it.  And it shows on my hips and on the scale.  My realization or turning point came when, on Tuesday, I was putting together a test bodice for the gown that I am making for the upcoming Queen Mary Art Deco Ball.  The bodice should have fit, but didn't.  It was close, but not quite a fit.  (Thankfully, it's just a test run.  No actual evening gown fabric was harmed.)

It made me sick to think that I should easily fit into the bodice, but couldn't and the reason was that I couldn't be bothered to eat better and exercise.  So... time to take off the gloves and put me squarely in my place.

I'll warn you now.  The first video blog entry was made this morning.  I have on no make-up (not even my eyebrows!)  My hair is a wreck.  The house is torn upside down to accommodate my sewing.  In short, it's a glaringly bright light into all the ugly cracks and crevices around my personal facade.  It is not for the faint at heart.

And here it is.

To help remove the image of me in my 8:30am glory from your mind, here is a lovely photo of a gorgeous gal in her skivvies.  Enjoy.

Lily isn't sewing

Nope.  I am currently listening to the milk-blurbly snores of my funny baby.  He is catnapping at the boob leaving me to type this one-handed.  Rather appropriate for the last day of World Breastfeeding Week.

Last week I played the birthday trump card and scored a trip to the marketplace at Costume College.  While there, I picked up two more Decades of Style patterns.  I've decided that so long as I still have this heavier version of me (thanks, postpartum me!), I am going to at least make some flattering, well-fitting attire for myself.

My figure isn't nearly as waspy, but whose is?

When I've been able to squeeze in a bit of time here and there, I've been working on a toile/muslin of the 1950s Gourmet Skirt.  Cute, isn't it?

I crafted the toile in the largest size the pattern offered believing that, as it was smaller than my last waist measurement, it would be snug.  But, no, it ended up waaaay to big.  Yay?  So I'm back to stage one.  Last night I managed to tear the toile apart, iron out the seams, and reassemble one pocket.  All hopes of stitching this morning went out the window when Brian left for archery practice leaving me alone with the babe.

Baby boy is still napping while boobing.  Very cute, but rather limiting.  Guess I'll go back to watching streaming episodes of I Love Lucy...

Grown-up Time Recap

Last night was wonderful.  Absolutely magnificent.

In my last blog post, I mentioned that Brian and I were going to an event at the downtown Los Angeles Coca Cola building.  I had lamented my postpartum body and blathered on about the struggle to find a good outfit for the occasion.  Thankfully, all of the negativity that I had was washed away by the time spent with good friends.

I did manage to squeeze into the red knit dress and not look a total mess.  I would like to think that I captured the spirit and joie de viv of a heavy Elizabeth Taylor.  At least, that’s what I continually told myself so as to not frump over into a completely lackluster posture.

The tour and Coca Cola building was nice.  While not truly awesome, it was a lovely time for the right people (ADSLA members only) and the right price (FREE).  Plus, yours truly was one of the fortunate.  I won a gigantic plush polar bear in the raffle.

Post Coca Cola event, friends Tricia and Paul agreed to join Brian and myself for dinner.  Our first two attempt to find the right place to dine were bust.  Wurstkuche was beyond crowded, Cafe Metropol was closed.  Paul suggested a supper club, First and Hope, and thanks to Open Table integration with Yelp, we were able to make immediate reservations for four.

The supper club was gorgeous and proved to be a perfect location for four friends to drink, dine, and chat as we certainly enjoyed all three.  As for the drinks, Tricia ordered a glass of Skylark wine, Brian settled on a Manhattan, and I indulged in a 20th Century--my first time enjoying this particular drink.  It will certainly not be my last, it was quite tasty and should definitely be a future Cocktail of the Week!

Dinner was divine.  I had such a lovely time chatting with Paul and Tricia.  I do wish that we weren’t quite so geographically distant as, selfishly, I’d love to be able to see them more often.  We talked and laughed (often) about a multitude of subjects--to many to note.  It was tough to finally say, “goodnight,” but as all had babysitters to rescue we did have to call it a night near nine o’clock.

Reflecting now upon the evening, I cannot help but desire to spend future evenings in a similar fashion--a small group of friends simply enjoying each others company.  Big gathering as grand, but there is something truly special about a couple of friends, a couple of drinks, and witty conversation.  

Grown-up Time

Tonight, the fella and I are going out just the two of us.  We were able to convince the teenager to watch the baby.  I'm confident that she'll do just fine, but her occasional anxiety when Declan cries in the car has me mentally preparing for the possibility of calling it an early night.  Declan is MUCH improved from where he was when first diagnosed with GERD, but he can kick up a real good fuss every once in a while.

The event that Brian and I are attending is a special tour and event at the Los Angeles Coca Cola building. As the building is not open to the public, I'm pretty stoked.  Plus, I thought that it would be a gas to dress in Coca Cola red.  I have only two red articles of clothing.  One is a cotton day dress with delicate floral print all over it.  As seen here:

Great summer dress, but not very fancy

The other option is a gorgeous red knit dress from the 1950s.  But yeah, knit.  In summer.  At least it's a cotton knit, but still.  Not to mention that my postpartum body is not at all attractive in a clingy knit number.

So, on Friday I decided to do some quick shopping to find a suitable skirt or dress.  The two + hours that I spent that afternoon would have been much more enjoyable had I instead stayed home and drilled random holes into my skull.  It was that bad.  I knew that finding a good red would be difficult, but I failed to account for the ego-crushing feelings associated with finding the perfect item, in what is normally my size AND what is normally a couple of sizes too large, but not being able to fit my ample a** into any of them.  Ouch.

I've decided, as Brian will be wearing his white linen suit, to attempt to squeeze into enough foundation garments to make my figure not too horrifying for the red knit dress.  Failing that, I'll wear the cotton summer shirtdress.  

Now, who's going to take bets to see just how quickly this evening out comes to a screeching halt?  I do hope that we're at least able to enjoy all of the tour.