Baby, When I Used To Be Skinny

I’m skinny. I know. I got it. I’m not anorexic. I don’t think I’m fat. Just want to get that out there.

I do know that I’ve grown out of some clothes. But that happens. I mean, right? Clothes don’t last forever. T-shirts and sweaters lose their shape and mysteriously become crop tops. Jeans get tighter as you wash them. It happens.

And I knew I’d gained weight because the scale told me. And because I found out what it meant to have a muffin top. Suddenly I knew my jeans were too tight NOT because my hip bones were cutting into them but because my belly was spilling out over them. What is this belly thing??

And I knew I’d gained weight because it was in the numbers. I weighed 110 lbs wet, from the time I was 15 until I was 27. Now I weigh 130, 135. (I don’t own a scale so it depends on whose random scale I’m on.) And gaining 20 – 25 lbs in 3 years is . . . I mean, it’s the kind of thing a person is going to notice.

But it didn’t really sink in until I was looking through old photos. Here’s the old Jen, from April 2006, hours after riding my first MS150.

Look at those sinewy arms! Look at that concave stomach! I’m a damn beanpole!! No wonder people always asked if I was a model! Because what they really meant was, “Man, you sure look great in spite of that heroin addiction you must have!”

I look at that picture and I’m surprised men were attracted to me, let alone slept with me. I’m kind of disgusted. On their behalf.

So here I am now, in a picture from 2 weeks ago used entirely without permission from my cousin April, who posted it to my Facebook page.

So it’s not the most flattering expression, but MAN! Do you see that skin on my face! Do you see the roundness of my shoulders? The way my arms look like arms, not an exercise in skeletal structure? Do you see the way my dress IS STAYING UP OF ITS OWN ACCORD? Okay it’s with the help of a strapless bra, but do you see that I AM ABLE TO WEAR A STRAPLESS BRA THAT IS STAYING UP OF ITS OWN ACCORD?

Anyway, that’s Jen + 25 lbs. I like it. Please don’t think I’m complaining. Other than an increased awareness of my stomach in all certain outfits, I love it! I love having occasional cleavage (32A cleavage is still cleavage!!), I love having a booty. I love having hips and thighs that very nearly touch. And. most importantly, I love that no one accuses me of not eating. (That’s been replaced by someone asking me about once a week if I’m pregnant, but I guess that’s the trade off.)

I was vaguely aware of all of that, but it was the photo of me that threw it into perspective. It’s also helping me get rid of old clothes. I’m not a 2 and don’t ever want to be a 2 again. I just bought a pair of jeans today and I’m a 6. No sense keeping around those pleated long dress shorts I bought with Caroline’s Ann Taylor Loft discount. I have several jeans and skirts that are borderline. And by borderline, I mean that they are too tight but they were too damned expensive or would have been if I hadn’t gotten them at Marshall’s/TJMaxx/on eBay to get rid of yet.

So it’s kind of exciting, being a 6 and not  2. But I’m good here, body. Hear me? I want to tone you up and then we’re set. 135 lbs is great.

I’m talking to my body and acting like it’s her fault that I can’t eat 4000 calories in a day with no consequences anymore. Brittany is keeping track of her calorie intake and exercise, etc. and it’s super interesting. So I’ve been keeping track of mine for 3 days and as it turns out there might be a reason I’ve gained 25 lbs in 3 years. It might have something to do with the beer I just had or the brie in my fridge I’m about to pour sweet ancho sauce all over. There’s kind of a relationship between eating gelato for afternoon snack and skipping yoga to cook a white lasagna and having to get rid of your favorite jeans.