I've mentioned before that I am a worrier, but I feel the need to stress the severity of my worrying. I sleep with a pad of paper and pen on my nightstand so when I wake up with some minuscule concern that begs to keep me awake, I can write it down in the darkness and go back to sleep.
In theory anyway.
I have woken up, written down whatever it is that needs to be written down and then worried that I will not remember its' connection to my waking life of day time and I will again be woken up by the thought the following night.
So I worry about being up all night- worrying.
Recently I have lost some weight through a lot of hard work. Not a ton of weight, but enough to make me not feel like a big fat whale anymore.
Running is hard work.
Eating grapefruit instead of PopTarts is hard work.
Drinking one less glass of wine is (really) hard work.
I wanted to buy just a few new summer clothes things, so I drop Pmonkey off with his Grammy and Pop Pop and went for a little relaxed- non toddle toting- shopping.
For me, a slice of heaven is being in a dressing room- alone.
I didn't know how great that was until I tried to squeeze a stroller into the tiny space that is a GAP fitting room. There is much shame in trying on an ill fitting two piece bathing suit, in front of your toddler. I believe once I even saw Pman roll his eyes when I tried on pants that I knew would probably be too small, but did it anyway- ahhh wishful thinking.
He has figured out that the doors, and sometimes the walls, of dressing rooms do not reach all the way to the ground.
AND that miracle of miracles there is ANOTHER person in their own little world in the cubby next door!
Finally as if all these discoveries were not enough to just send him completely over the edge of the world- he can actually fit in and crawl through the space.
He seems to also realize that I- The Mombot- do not fit under the space with the same ease as he does. Nor am I all that willing to attempt to fit in the space.
This pattern of new behavior has also occured in various bathroom stalls. He used to just stand there while I did what I had to do.
Now he puts his sweet baby hands on the ground, bends at the waist and peers under the wall at the unsuspecting victim in the next stall. Even when the floors are sloppy gross with gray mud residue from the parking lot of the Wawa gas station.
Of course I try to stop him. Sometimes it works.
Yesterday, in the depths on the Old Navy dressing room, I stood alone and looked at myself in the mirror in a dress that fit and was smaller than the dresses I wore last summer. The dress looked good. Not great- it was just a solid colored cotton V-neck- but it was nice enough for the playground. I think Pslick would have approved.
I didn't buy it.
Why wouldn't I buy a dress that was smaller and still fit and was less than $20?
Because I worry that next summer I may be fat again and the dress won't fit. I called my mom and told her about the dress.
"Nikki. You're being ridiculous. You could lose a leg between now and next summer and you won't be able to wear pants and you will need to wear dresses."
It should be noted my mom has been on the receiving end of my worries for nearly 30 years. Josh has also taken to agreeing with me when I am in one of my worry-modes because as he says, "It is just easier and you are going to change your mind anyway."
I did recently buy a dress from Ann Taylor LOFT that was two sizes smaller than my normal size and...AND it was on sale for $4. Actually it was $3.88.
When I showed it to Josh he said, "That was a waste of $4."
What does he know?
Whenever I do wear that dress I'm wearing it inside with the price tag still on!