Expanding borders of bannanaland

I was recently telling my mom that I’ve begun sewing again, in an attempt to make and alter some clothes to stretch over my ever expanding ass. This included the task of taking my measurements. Something I haven’t done in five years or so.

While the results were surprising, my mothers reaction was more so.

I got to hear a warning about how fat the women of our family can get. Blah blah blah, I’ve heard this stuff for years. While it kind of pissed me off, I’m over it now and have pulled a number of insights about my family and myself from this very short interaction.

My goal had actually been to gain weight, I mean it would’ve been complete lunacy to lose weight, in my case. Two events in my life made it abundantly clear to me, I needed to bulk up.

First, I was hostessing at my job when a super thin woman walked in. She looked brittle, like she might shatter in a strong wind. I mentioned something to a co-worker about my impression. He stopped, looked at me in the eye and said, he could say the same thing about me. I was surprised, I was petite but frail? Really? I asked, “Really?”

“Definitely.” Without missing a beat.

Shortly after that, I got married. And after that, I got my wedding video back. Besides hours of footage of my second maid in command’s booty, I was quite disturbed by my appearance.

I was like “Who’s that skank?”

“ Oh my god its me!”

My back actually appeared concave to me, skeletal, and this was after gaining a few quick lbs, just enough to turn my once comfortable gown into a torture device. Even my head looked two sizes too small.

Its strange, when I look in the mirror I don’t “see” much of a difference but my size 0-2 pants no longer fit, size 8’s a bit snug and the friends scale I tried, doesn’t lie.

I’m not huge or anything, but really, 6-8 sizes is a big change if you think about it.

And I guess that’s all my mother heard when I proudly exclaimed “I gained twenty lbs!” I didn’t consciously try to gain weight, a few years ago I just began telling myself there should be more of me.

Then voila! Suddenly there was.

I asked my husband if he could tell how big I’ve gotten, he couldn’t. (Or he chose to safely dodge a bullet) I showed him my arm. I wrapped my hand around it as far as my fingers would reach. There was a two and a half inch gap between my fingers that I’ve never seen before. I said “Now you try it” He was able to wrap his fingers around my arm, tips to tip. He used to be able to wrap his thumb around to the end of his first middle knuckle.

After stripping down to my skivvies, I took a real good look at myself. I began to see some differences. You can almost call my butt round now. Before it was flat and bony. I remember being grateful it was behind me, so I never had to watch it coming, and now here I was turning in stilted little circles like a puppy chasing her own tail just to get a better glimpse!

My legs are truly powerful looking, riding my bike has begun to pay off, I suspect much of my weight gain has been in muscle, while the rest has been divided round just about everywhere else with a thin insular padding.

I can honestly say for the first time since I was a child, “I truly feel good in my body.”

So, when I began to get lectured about watching my weight, with oh dear this is how it goes, and you’re gonna get fat- fat- fat kind of messages from my mom, I was irked.

I told her she was looking at this all wrong. That she was entirely missing the point. “Oh?” she asked.

I thought about the previous summer when Granny eyed me critically and mentioned my roundness. I thought about the previous winter, when my aunt came up with her brand new baby and Granny fixed those same critical eyes to her other daughter making a disparaging comment to her about her weight. Typically, I came to my aunts defense and told her she looked amazing, which she honestly did.

I thought about the time I was fifteen and Granny stood me in front of a mirror and pointed out each body part of mine that had been better on her when she was my age. After that, I remember going to the nearest club and getting rip roaring drunk, after that, not so much in the remembering department.

I thought about the time I was thirteen and my stepfather patted me on the ass and inquired about the junk in my trunk, and my subsequent decision to scorn red meat. I thought about dinner with the Varlocks.

My head was filled with the bells and whistles and whirring found in a typical pinball machine while it leaped and bounded from association to association. As though freed from any and all direction by me, my mind kept presenting these memories of its own accord. Snap shot after snapshot till I clearly saw the fuller picture.

I said four little words “I’m over the anorexia.”

“Oh!” She said.