Monday, February 25, 2008

Sunday Means Laundry Day . . .

When I first arrived as a Freshman in Dana Hall on Quinnipiac's beautiful 200 acres in August of 1994, I brought with me very few real-world skills that could carry me through life. I couldn't cook very much or very well. I couldn't manage money. I couldn't see that my status as a freshman did not compel me to like the Steve Miller Band or the Beastie Boys. I barely had a driver's license and I was not able to convince a good friend of mine not to get a tattoo for the sole purpose of upsetting her very conservative, Jewish parents.

I had a LOT to learn but that is what college is for, right?!

To learn who you really are. To learn how to live and be independent. To learn a skill, profession or vocation. To learn that "liquor before beer, you are in the clear - beer before liquor, never been sicker."

The ONE skill that I brought to college with me, however, was LAUNDRY.

Four days after my arrival on campus, my first Sunday as a college student, I did my laundry. I've done laundry just about every Sunday in the 14 years since too. Much to the laughing, pointing and chagrin of Joy. She feels I might have some OCD-like issues around Sunday laundry (NOTE - I have always maintained that it is NOT OCD but, in my heart, I know she's right)!

As Joy and I merged our lives and started a family, a few things became very apparent to me . . .

1 - My pants were so big that Joy's pants could literally climb inside them and hide out during the spin cycle.
2 - If you are morbidly obese and still gaining weight, the dryer is your sworn enemy.
3 - Joy takes her socks, pants and undies off in one swift movement and never bothers to seperate the articles of clothing upon their removal. (NOTE - Joy won't appreciate that I shared that. In my heart, I know she'll be right for feeling that way.)
4 - The clothes of a newborn through 18 month old are just really, really, really small. And cute.

Since my surgery - and especially in the last few months - there is another thing that has become very apparent to me too. My clothes are getting smaller.

I know that should seem obvious but I was actually caught off guard yesterday. I confused one of my t-shirts for one of Joy's. I folded my undies a different way than I have for the last 14 years because there is just less fabric to fold then there once was. I put three of my sweaters from the washer to the dryer HOPING they would shrink so they actually fit again v. add bulk to my body. I actually laughed - OUT LOUD - at a pair of pajama pants that I washed for the first time yesterday. They seemed SO tiny to me but - when I put them on - they fit quite comfortably.

I should not be so surprised by these events. They are all part of why I had this surgery. They are the things that I KNEW would be part of my experience post surgery. They are the daily reminders that I am still losing weight and they are the daily nudges that I need to stay agressive in losing weight ("Hey, wait a minute, these pants have fit for like a month. I need to get to the gym so they can fall off my hips soon.").

What I was NOT ready for was just how quickly my clothes would go from laundry to the donation pile. I moved in to our house on October 31, 2007. That was not quite five months ago. With the exception of the outfit I wore to the hospital the morning of my surgery (that I will hold on to until the day I am finally ready to take that all-too-cliche "Look at me holding my big-ol pants out in front of my little old body" picture that ALL GBers must eventually sit for) I have four shirts in my closet today that I brought with me from Connecticut. All four are too big for me and are only worn for weekends and plumbing projects. I have no pants left from my New England days. I will not wear any of this winter's sweaters when the cold weather returns in the fall. My t-shirt and underwear drawer has more overturn than a poorly-managed fast food restaurant.

My SOCKS are the only constant in my fashion life, frankly. And I HATE socks.

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