supersized

Yesterday, Charles and I were strolling Drew along in downtown Greenville when we passed a dress shop called 'Goddess Plus'.

Goddess Plus claims to cater to the 'full-figured' woman. Goddess Plus informed me, in large letters on a glaringly bright banner, that 'full-figured' means sizes 12 to 26.

Double-take.

Size 12? I'm a size 12.  I'm considered 'Full-Figured'? How is that possible? I wear an A-cup bra for Goddess Plus sake!

So this morning I got dressed, turned to Charles and said, "Does this outfit make me look....'full-figured'?"

"I swear to God, I'm gonna go firebomb that store right now," Charles muttered as he stomped out of the room.

(legal disclaimer: if, for some crazy, cosmic reason, Goddess Plus ends up a smoking ruin some time in the near future, Charles does not now nor has he ever owned any explosives of any kind nor do we associate with the kinds of people from whom such things can be purchased.)

Whatever.

I refuse to let the obviously brain-damaged owners of Goddess Plus define who I am based solely on my dress size.

Their clothes are tacky anyway.

Enough about me and my delusions of slimness. (here I was all excited that I was down to a size 12 - I won't tell you what I wore right after Drew was born - but I'm not bitter about this whole full-figured thing I swear I'm really really not...)

We had to lower Drew's mattress this weekend because he's figured out how to pull himself up on the railings. Now that he's discovered this new power, he tries to pull himself up on anything that looks even remotely stable - the couch, my legs, the cat...

Last night he pulled himself up by the edge of the couch. He then got so excited with himself that he waved both arms in the air over his head...and promptly fell over backwards.

The look on his face as he went down was priceless - a "Oh shit I really screwed up THAT one" kinda look.

"You know, there's concrete under that flooring," Charles said helpfully.

I have a feeling we're in for a good many tumbles and falls in our near future.

I admit, it makes my heart jump and my breath stop when I see him falling and I KNOW I won't make it to him in time to catch him. I also admit that when he does fall, I scoop him up immediately and cover him with kisses, which is probably the absolute wrong thing to do.

But you know, I don't care - my baby fell and hurt himself and all I can think is, "Make it better Bad-Mom! Make it better!"

I know he's going to hurt himself, and I don't want to raise a timid boy, so I'm trying to find the fine line between being protective enough and being OVERprotective.

I think it's going to take a lot of practice.

Comments

[Jan]

You are NOT plus sized, geesh. Pretty soon they will be calling size 4 plus size.

As for the falls/bruises/bumps, as the momma of a bit older boy, I have to say get used to it!

[Sam]

Yuck...I hate stores like that. Like any of us need to be reminded that we aren't Lindsay Lohan (sp?) or one of the Olsen twins.
Here's what ya do about the owies...act all cool about it when it happens, then kiss 'em bunches later when it seems like it's for no reason! And lemme know if it works :)