The morning started out in usual hectic fashion. Ben and I were heading to Chicago with friends for our first overnight trip without the kids since before Fiona was born, and I had, in true procrastinator fashion, left all the packing to the morning. After furiously stuffing all of the kid’s supplies into suitcases and bags, I started my packing. I knew we were going out to a nice place that night, so I grabbed my old standby, a black cotton sundress, pumps, and everything else I could think of, and ran out of the house.
The rest of the day went smoothly, relaxing even, as we ate and shopped our way down the Michigan Mile. Even the salesperson from Victoria’s Secret couldn’t damper my spirit, even after she gave me the once-over and told me that I should buy the “bigger size”.
I could even chuckle after my escapade in the restroom at Volare, the Italian restaurant we went to for dinner. There was a long line, one working stall, and the kitchen staff yelling in Italian outside the door. An older woman came out of the stall, took one look at me in my high waisted dress and tummy pooched out from my dinner of ricotta gnocchi and vodka sauce, and told me that I should go first, “because I was pregnant”. I calmly corrected her and moved up in line, inwardly rolling my eyes at her remark.
But later, as we sat listening to a jazz band and gorging ourselves on a beautiful chocolate buffet at The Peninsula, the unthinkable happened. The waiter stopped by our table to refill my water glass, and asks me, “So, are you celebrating the new baby tonight?”
Seriously.
I wish I could have laughed it off and joked about how I ate too many chocolate parfaits. I wish that I could have said something wittier than “Um, I’m not pregnant.” But the smile wouldn’t come, and instead, tears started to trickle out of the corners of my eyes. I quickly excused myself, and found myself sitting in a bathroom stall, furious with myself for crying, but not able to stop.
This was my weekend away from the daily grind of ponytails, t-shirts, and flip flops. I was supposed to feel special and pretty, but instead I felt like a frumpy fraud. With that one question, my self-esteem had been shredded into pieces and handed back to me on a shiny silver platter.
The thing is? It was an honest mistake by the waiter. A horrible mistake, but we did ask whether there was alcohol in the chocolate drink, and I just happened to be wearing that dastardly high-waisted dress. It could have happened to anyone. It just happened to be me…for the second time in one night.
Mistake or not…one time or two…it is one thing to have parts of your body that you don’t like; it’s another thing to have one of them called out in public…by a stranger. I felt pitiful, embarrassed, and unattractive. Where was my confidence? My thick skin? My “rock what you got” attitude? I had nothing.
Thankfully, my friend Jenni came and rescued me from my misery, and somehow, I survived the rest of the evening without any more tears. We even ended up getting our dessert for free, which was a small consolation for the major damper on the evening.
But thinking about it now, almost a week later, I am still dumbfounded by how flimsy my armor is. I consider myself a confident and competent person, but I can still be brought to my knees by an offhand comment by a well-meaning waiter. It is a painful realization, and it makes me worry about teaching my daughters to stand strong when others say hurtful things when I can’t hack it myself. And…do I truly have such a low opinion of myself?
Frankly, I don’t know. But what I do know is that I can either wallow in self-pity about how I don’t have the time or energy to work off my belly fat or I can work on accepting myself…flaws included.
Hmm…I think it is time to upgrade my armor…
Rachel, the fact that you were brave and courageous enough to write an entire post about this matter shows just how confident you really are. I know that a comment(s) like that would crack my armor too given how I would innerly hype a weekend away in a different place, where I was out of my element and wanted everything to be wonderful. When I get down about body parts I don’t like, I just try to remember that my body wouldn’t be like it is if I didn’t have Taylor…and you can smile knowing that your three beautiful kids have “shaped” you how you are today.
Right on with what Jill said. Writing it showed confidence. And it WAS the weekend you wanted to feel unmomlike for a bit, just a bit.
buy a new dress. Burn that one.
I remember checking out once at a grocery store and the clerk said to me with great exuberance,”You must be ready to “pop” any moment!” I indeed was pregnant but that baby had 5 months left to cook. I was shocked, upset and felt very self-conscious! Was I so huge that I already looked like a super-size watermelon? I calmed down and accepted that the clerk had made an honest mistake; she did not mean to administer shock therapy, she was just being friendly. Later, I reflected upon how God sees us. He looks at us from the inside, and if we are serving Him and walking daily in His word we are beautiful and lovely to Him. What else could be more important! What else matters! Rachel, you are doing the right things and doing things right! You are beautiful inside and out! So wear that black dress again with confidence,joy and laughter. Take care!
Oh, I winced when I read that one – an all-too familiar feeling. I think it stems from us moms wanting to do the best job at everything we’re given to do, including taking care of ourselves. I only recently have stopped feeling guilty about that desire; it’s not being selfish to want to be the best version of ourselves as moms, wives, homemakers, employees. When someone doesn’t “get” that what they’re seeing is the best version of our current life, it’s rough.
You’ve birthed three beautiful children, the last of which is not so distant in the past that anyone could expect you to look 21 again! My midwife always says that it takes your body 2 years to recover from pregnancy/childbirth…I take comfort in that!
And p.s., you’re being generous to the waiter; it was foolish of him to say, no matter what.
Thanks for all of your wonderful comments – it takes the sting out of the jab, eh?
I loved your comment, Jill, about how our kids have “shaped” us…in more ways than just physically! It goes along with looking at the inside that Debbie mentioned…I just wish that the maturity and strength that I have gained was more visible!
The best version of ourselves…I like that too, Kate…and realizing that this is the best it is going to get…right now. I think that about myself, my house, the state of my feet…:)
I don’t think I’m going to keep the dress, as Denise suggested…might use it for the kids craft area…they can cut it apart or something 🙂
Oh, Rachel. Big hugs. I would have had a hard time keeping the tears back as well…but that is just human nature. Who said we need to be “tough as nails” anyways?
A new dress is in order for you, that’s for sure. In fact, Ann Taylor Loft has a bunch of stuff on sale right now…take this as a sign and an invite to go along. Shall I come with to be your personal shopper? 😉