The last time I checked, I was a size 0-2. I was recently in the mall trying on clothes when I discovered that my hips that bore a child to full term (4 years ago) wouldn’t fit in a 2, even if I held my breath.
I saw this pair of beautiful white shorts in Zara and I put the size 2 up against my body. *#$%*@!^%&@. It only covered a little over half of me.
Is there a sizing conspiracy going on?!?
I am now a 4. Bordering on a 6.
Once I allowed it to sink in and I had some time to think, I realized this: “Who cares? Well, I don’t!”
I don’t look perfect. I am not perfect. This is my body now. I am 30 years old, turning 31 this year. Time sure ain’t stopping for me. The cellulites and dimpling have graced my thighs even though I jog and exercise. The wrinkles are appearing even though I load my face with Olay morning and night.
But despite the effects of aging, I actually feel great. I love how I look, and so does my husband.
And that is all that matters.
Disclaimer: For some reason, Marco doesn’t seem to see the dimpling in my thighs. He needs to have his eyes checked, but I sure ain’t bringing him to the eye doctor anytime soon. 😛
Thank you to one of my oldest and smartest friend, Ria Marifosque for helping me edit all these blog posts. ❤ You the bestest ever!