This is a story about fate, love, perseverance, genetics… and sweet, sweet ironic bullshit.
A healthy weight and I have never been friends. When I’m super fat (and usually relatively mentally happy) the first words out of people’s mouths are… “What’s wrong?” Then consequently, at times where I’ve been freakishly thin (and mentally miserable) the first words out of people’s mouths are… yup, you guessed it, “What’s wrong?”
People are judgmental. They are cruel, they are selfish and they usually don’t even realize what they say. Especially when it comes to a 12-year-old girl, a 21-year-old college graduate, a 30-year-old mother of 1, or a 37-year-old mother of 3. So I don’t even wonder why I have negative body imagine. I know, straight up know, that’s it’s because the mirror I use every day is really the attitude of the people I surround myself with. I’m not one of those bitches who checks her makeup (I rarely put on makeup) or whips out a compact to see if she has stuff in her teeth. Now that I’m a bit older, I know what’s up, and surround myself with positive people, who make me feel good, more often than they make me feel bad. Obviously, this doesn’t include my children, whom I have no choice but to cater to their needs. That I can handle. None of the wee ones has ever called me a “fat ass bitch”, but they’re still young. Give them time.
So here’s where the story get’s ironic.
My Hubby had some hardcore dental work a couple of months ago. I commend him for doing what needed to be done and it just makes him more of a hero in my eyes that he was in crazy pain dealing with our motley crew. And while his teeth are fabulous now, he had about 2 weeks of bad pain (which lead to eating less) afterward.
My husband has the metabolism of a hummingbird. I’ve never known him (in 20 years) to weigh more than 160 pounds. He’s actually worn the same pants size since we met, extremely opposite from how my weight has fluctuated at least 30 pounds from here to there.
That’s why when I finally noticed his weight loss I was shocked. Like, over the top, holy shit, floored. We were changing for an event we had to attend and I saw him shirtless… {OMG, he’s so thin… holocaust thin}. Of course, the first thoughts in my head were that his heavy workload and too many kids was just too much for him. I felt so guilty that the man I want to spend my life with was burdened. Ugh, and I burdened him…. It was a very scary, guilty feeling.
When I asked him about it he laughed at my fears…
“Burdened? That’s a laugh.”
I guess I have a marvelous imagination.
He explained that the weight he lost after dental surgery hadn’t come back on easily… or at all. What kind of bullshit is this? The dentist could wire my jaw shut for a fucking month and I still wouldn’t lose weight and here is my Hubby trying to put weight back on? Oh hell no.
So, because I’m not about to be the fat person in this relationship and because I love my husband, I vowed to see this “weight gain thing” through… “I am going to fatten you up if it’s the last thing I do!”
Off I rushed to the local vitamin/nutrition store. As I wheel the baby in with his stroller I find a sales clerk…
What do you take when you’re trying to gain weight?
{She gives my body a once over and raises an eyebrow at me}
Not me, I’m not trying to gain weight… Jeez.
I explain to her the whole long story and she sells me a protein powder that’s call, get this, “Up Your Mass”. The name alone had me in hysterics. Proving, once again, that I have the Benny Hill mentality of a 10-year-old boy. I completely blame Mel Brooks for my sense of humor.
Because ass jokes are always funny.
It’s been 2 weeks since Hubby started with the daily “Up Your Mass” shakes along with homemade lunch (in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Lunchbox) and the usual dinner.
He’s put on 2 pounds.
When the premixed protein powder makes contact with my skin I gain 2 pounds.
It’s just not fair.
I wonder how much it costs to have your jaw wired shut?