As a woman, my current worry is to lose my body weight. I am slightly over five feet and weigh slightly over 65 kgs and I too want to touch my ideal weight by the end of this year.
Same goals but different paths.
You see the irony and the connection? I believe I can partially attribute my over weight to my daughter’s under weight. In my efforts to feed her all the nice, delicious (and mostly overloaded with addictive taste and sugar and chocolate) things and her insistence on having just a bite of those, I binge on them.
The cycle of relentlessly eating-baby’s-leftover-food was going well until she started to go to a school that is located in the centre of the city where most of the kids are picked up by their hot, well dressed and sexy, working moms. As a result of the deeply harbored and mighty suppressed inferiority complex about my body shape, I became conscious of my body weight.
In the last five years post delivery, I gained about 10 kgs around mid-waist. Worst is that I can’t get rid of the mid-tyre at tummy that gives good competition to my bust when it comes to carrying extra bulge.
To hide these imperfections, I found solace in Indian ethnic wear – salwar kameez. These salwar kameez are easily customized as per one’s body types and can conveniently hide problem areas.
So for over four years I wore only (and only) Indian ethnic wear. I would slip in a t-shirt and a pajama in the evenings or at times when I know I would be inside for hours but whenever I had to step out, I always preferred salwar kameez.
In the current fifth year, my daughter started going to school and I willingly chose to pick her up every day. Weeks passed by and then months of watching other women dressed up so impeccably in pleated dresses with polished shoes. My complex was now expanded and extended to attires as well.
I sometimes wondered if those women ever had a bad hair day or if they really carried their Louis Vuitton bags everyday. Because if I had had a Louis Vuitton or even a Kors for that matter,
I am sure I would have locked it up safely in a neat drawer designated only to that particular bag and each time I had to step out, I would look at the bag and admire its beauty and close the drawer again. I couldn’t take the risk of making a Kors or Vuitton dirty, even by a rare chance!
After consistent mommy-watching, eight months ago I gathered the courage to ditch Indian ethnic wear and embrace western dresses. I got a few dresses tailor-made for myself (and to my surprise I looked better than what I had expected).
While my husband has always preferred (and he still does) Indian attires on me, my daughter seemed very pleased with this western influence in her mom’s wardrobe.
I was happy too with the change and googled for ways to enhance my curves and camouflage the bulges. Each time I googled, the first thing it showed up was – exercise. After all, losing fat is the best way to show curves and diminish hanging flesh.
Inspired by Tiffany Rothe and Bipasha Basu, I began exercising. My daughter especially found these aerobic sessions highly intriguing. The moment I put my shoes on, she would flood me with her questions.
‘Mumma, are you exercising to become thin?’
‘Yeah, I am’, I would reply pecking her.
Often this led to another discussion.
‘Oh! So you want to become like me – lean and thin?’
‘Yes baby. I do’
‘Then why do you want to increase my weight?’, she would pat ask.
It took me days to explain to her that she was too thin and I was too fat so I was trying my best to bring both of us to a good balance.
She seemed to understand.
One day while I put my shoes again after a break of a week, she asked me –
‘Mumma, don’t exercise. You are not fat.’
‘I am baby. I am.’
‘No. You are not. You are alright mumma. Who calls you fat?’
There. There she said something that I long wanted to hear from myself.
‘You are alright. You remember that yellow dress? The one that you wore to my school the other day? You look so thin in that’, She added.
‘Do I? Really?’
‘Yes. In that yellow dress. You should wear it every day.’
I kissed her. Hugged her. Smothered her with my kisses and love and gave up that day’s exercise.
|This is the magical yellow dress!|
Still, I gave in to my baby’s demand and wore the yellow dress.
‘See, your tummy gone. Don’t do exercise mumma, wear this dress instead.’
She was going on and on about the dress and I looked at the mirror. Surprisingly, the tummy wasn’t there.
Obviously, it was there physically but psychologically it wasn’t visible to me. It wasn’t bulging anymore.
It wasn’t hurting my self-confidence and it wasn’t adding any extra weight to my obese body.
I placed my hand on tummy and for the first time in five years, I loved myself in my over weight body.
Call it an illusion or the designer’s brilliant idea of adding a string in an umbrella dress or my psychological tendency to overlook the fat in the middle, the yellow dress did make me feel comfortable about my over weight.
Pahal called it magic. I called it love.
Note: This post needs your love. If you enjoyed reading it, please share it with your friends. Help me in spreading my words. Maybe this helps them in finding their own YELLOW DRESS!