Cotton Stretch Battlefield

I went shopping today (yay!) for pants (ugh). One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is try to give my body shape, my size, my weight, over to Christ. For the better part of my life, I have been absolutely terrified that God would want me to be a plus size. So there I was today, shopping for size 14/15 pants — and they fit. In the last 11 years, I’ve gone from a size 2 to this, this which once scared the hell outta me.

I’m not scared anymore. I’m confident that my eating habits are glorifying God (not under eating, not over eating, thankful for every bite). I am not falling into laziness, trying to find the time to get and then stay fit (playing airplane with my kids counts, right?), all the while fighting against medications that add 10+ pounds of water and fat onto my 31 year old mommy body. I know that God has put me here on purpose and it is good.

It still is frustrating, though. I know how to dress a teenage body, I know how to dress a twenty-something body, but this — I don’t know what to do with this. Wide-leg slouchy jeans were always my go to for comfort, but now, they don’t look the same. Between the weight gain and the hormone therapy, finding shirts that fit without dissolving into tears has climbed up higher on my priority list. This is tricky. I know I don’t look like it, but I feel like the passengers on the space ship in Wall-e. Reality Check: What we feel like and what we think we see in the mirror probably isn’t the most accurate portrayal of how we really look.

I tried on a couple of shirts before deciding I needed to dial it back to baby steps. I need pants more, I’m down to one pair that fit (aside from my precious stretchy pants, hallelujah for stretchy pants!). So there I was, trying pair after pair after pair. Asking the sales lady if they possibly had this in a larger size (thanking God for keeping my voice strong while my heart sank). We found one pair. They are a higher rise then I’ve ever worn in my life, but the three button waistband keep my tummy from falling uncomfortably over the top and protect me from gappage in the seat when I will, inevitably and gloriously, need to squat down to see eye to eye with my 2 year old. The little stretch in the knit fit my (once a upon a time) dancer legs that will forever be just a little more muscly then average. They are long enough (what is with wider waists equating to shorter legs, anyway?) and are in my happy color, black. Plus, they were under $20.

Deep breath, check out, leave the store and say a prayer, “Thank you, Lord, for this successful shopping trip. Thank You for this body You’ve designed with only me in mind. Thank you for the legs that still remember how to jump and twirl and tombe, pas de bourre, glissade. Thank you for my strong arms that have learned to comfort and rock my children when they need me the most. Thank you for these breasts which I’m still not used to, they have nourished my babies and continue to delight my husband. And thank you for my belly. The belly that safely housed 4 new souls as their bodies grew, that has grown soft along with my heart over the years. You are a wonderful God, and my body, this body, is a testament to Your goodness. Teach me to see myself through Your eyes, and help me with my unbelief.   Amen.”