Sizing Up Goals and Dress Sizes

Can you still call it baby weight if your baby is 3? I think so. There, I decided. It’s official.

Well, whether it is official or not doesn’t matter. It’s still there. I think, like a lot of moms out there, I’ve tried it all. I’ve done nationwide, allegedly proven diet plans. I’ve purchased food, counted points, weighed in. In short, it was a lot of public embarrassment, but not a lot of results.

Last week, while getting measured for my brother’s wedding, I think I hit an all-time low. I will say I’m pretty sure it was half my weight and half a psychotic saleswoman.

So there I am, in the most uncomfortable situation known to a woman: in a bridal store dressing room, having to be fitted for a bridesmaid dress. It started when the saleswoman asked if she could get me a strapless bra for my fitting. I declined. She wanted to get one anyway, and asked for a size. When I responded, she looked from eye level to chest level, and asked me “Are you sure?”

I brushed off her rudeness and moved along without her.

A few tries later, I found a size that I wanted to buy. Now, for some background, my brother’s wedding is this summer. It isn’t summer yet. And, though spring is on the way, I still am struggling to lose those few extra pounds that seem to creep in during the winter months.

I knew the dress I wanted was a bit tight. I realized that. But, given that I had about six months to get into it, I wanted to think optimistically and buy small. If I buy an overpriced bridesmaid gown now that seemed a hair snug, it would give me something to work toward. I surely wasn’t going to splurge more dough to have it re-sized down the road. So, buying it tight would motivate me to lose the extra pounds.

I know myself. I will do it. If I know I’d have to shell out more cash to fix it, I’ll make myself fit into it.

Apparently, the saleswoman did not agree. She checked me out, with small size in tow, and asked if I had picked the right one from the rack.

Yes, I’d confirmed I wanted the one in my hand. She insisted that I had read the tag incorrectly.

Still giving her the benefit of the doubt, I reassured her that no, this is, in fact, the dress I wanted. Yes, I was handing over $180 for a dress that was too tight. I got it. It’s the one I want. It was MY money, and if I wanted to buy it in a 2, it was my prerogative.

She insisted, AT THE REGISTER, to wrap her measuring tape around my bust, waist and rear just to confirm that she in fact was correct—that I should not be buying this size and should be at least one size higher. She jots all of this down on her handy little clipboard, and I, mortified at the front desk, begrudgingly handed over my Visa.

Trust me, if I had a choice, I would have walked out and then burnt the store to the ground. But, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law probably would not have been impressed with me revolting against the national name-brand dress that she’d picked out; I would have been the family outcast.

I ordered my dress and left. I’m still pretty mad at this saleswoman. The bottom line is, if I wanted to be a dress size smaller, I should be. I should work hard and get there.

I’m not in shape at the moment. But, since this incident, I guess I’ve been pretty motivated to lose the extra pounds. I’ve been to the gym for four weeks straight now. My dress is in to the store now, ready for pick up. I haven’t gone. I think I want to be closer to my goal before I even bring it into the house.

I’ll get there. I will even be in shape in time for the summer nuptials. It may not have been the most ideal of motivations, but either way, I’ve gotten into a good routine.

I’m not going to do a fad diet, or check in to a weight-loss center. I am going to go to my gym. I am going to eat smart, healthy and in smaller portions than usual. I am going to do the old-fashioned method.

I still have a baby belly. I still am rocking the, ah-hem, baby weight. And I am going to do it. By being smart and healthy.

It worked for my wedding. Here’s hoping it does for my brother’s, too. I’ll get there. But I’ll be damned if I forgive that witch at the bridal shop ...