Bodies

Yesterday, while in town, my sister and I saw a girl walking with her friend. They were both dressed, as lots of younger people are at the moment, in very tight jeans and a cropped top. One of the girls was very slim and one of the girls was not. Now people should wear whatever they like but the larger of the girls looked so uncomfortable, enough for us to comment on it. She looked just fine, but uncomfortable and it just seemed so sad that she felt like that when she should have been out relaxing with her friend.

In reality, clothes should be practical and comfortable, a uniform almost. They should be warm in the winter and cool in the summer and there should be no prices attached. A top would cost whatever and trousers whatever and we all wear the same. Can you imagine how liberating that would be. Wear them baggy if you want, tight if you prefer and get on with your day.

Almost like pajamas. I said this to my sister today as I mulled over this thought. I never feel anything other than comfortable when I’m in my pajamas. They are practical and comfortable, cotton mostly and cuffed at the leg, I can crawl around after Poppy, I can play with the big girls, I can cook, bathe the kids, almost entirely without thinking about what I’m wearing. I put a hoodie on if it’s cold, take it off if I’m warm and I don’t think at all about any of it.

Now I’m lucky that I don’t have any body issues. I have the usual insecurities, but they are very minor and generally I like my body. I prefer it in winter covered up admittedly and I am a bit nervy about the upcoming summer and dresses and shorts and things but I am lucky. However, a couple of weeks ago, on our anniversary, I got dressed in a dress and jumper, tights and boots and went out with J to look at a flat. I hated the outfit almost as soon as we got in the car but there wasn’t time to change. I could barely concentrate on looking at this flat because I wanted to rip all my clothes off. We looked at the flat and I came home and got changed.

Rationally, I am aware that I looked fine. But in my head, I didn’t and I needed to come home and put my jeans on. I did and I felt immediately as if a weight had been lifted. And that’s the same as pajamas. Warm, comfortable, almost comforting. Maybe it’s because they are associated with home. And that just my four see me in them mostly. And love me either way. Or maybe they are just comfortable.

This is an ode to pajamas.

Modest

Before the girls were born, tight clothing and me was a given. I’d lost a lot of weight following the break-up and I showed it off, there were days when I would wear a vest top and tights, the vest top stretching across me as a dress, a little cardigan on top as I was at work. In the evening, I’d happily wear a crop top, my stomach toned and flat, and there is a picture of me in shorts so short that they are very nearly indecent.

I got pregnant and nothing very much changed. The same vest tops stretched a little further and when they didn’t, I just bought them in a bigger size. I never carried my twins as if they were twins, measuring the same as a singleton pregnancy until 38 weeks when they arrived and that helped, I didn’t have anything to compare it to either, so I just looked the way I looked. After the girls were born was a shock. I’d obviously missed the bit about still looking pregnant and I can remember wanting to cry as I pulled on the clothes I’d bought some 36 hours after they were born and we were about to go home.

The weight came off quickly and naturally but everything looked different. It does still, after another pregnancy and another c-section and the way I dress now has changed almost beyond recognition. While I’m pregnant, I prefer tight things, the adage of looking pregnant not fat influencing what I want to wear. My skinny jeans fitted till the end without the button done up and that was a uniform of sorts, a long black vest and jeans, a big woolly jumper over the top. Helpful too that all of my babies were born in April so I haven’t been heavily pregnant during the summer.

Anyway, all this to say that I don’t hate my body. It has housed three babies, two at the same time, and I love it more than I think I have ever done. There are bits that will never be the same, I miss my really good boobs if I’m being really honest, but it is strong and healthy and has done some extraordinary things.

Yesterday, I wore shorts, short shorts yes but they were baggy and a sleeveless black top. I just felt uncomfortable. I went to the loo with the girls (this is a constant thing with newly toilet trained children) and I checked in the mirror, somehow expecting to look awful. I didn’t, I looked fine, appropriately dressed for the warm weather but it felt wrong. I changed into trousers when we got to Jody’s parents house and I instantly felt better. More comfortable, more myself.

I haven’t shown any cleavage for months, not even a hint, I don’t like it, I’ll put a crop top underneath a v-neck so that nothing can be seen. If I’m wearing tight jeans, I’ll wear a flowy top, if I wear a strappy top, I’ll wear a little jacket over the top, or a sleeveless denim shirt. There is a woman on instagram whose style I covet and I have no idea if she is a size 8 or a size 12 because everything she wears is loose and usually covers most of her body. If I’m shopping, then I gravitate towards flowy and loose, longer and sweeping.

I am a long way away from covering myself head to toe. A long way. But I have reached an age and a time in my life where I want my body to be seen only by Jody, or if I’m going swimming or if I’m in my garden. I want to show my girls, when the time comes, that they don’t need to look like the girls on the internet.

The body positivity movement is excellent and warrants a post all on its own but I’ll leave it as this. My body, my rules, my clothes.

And it means I can eat a bigger dinner. Or a cookie. And no one will know.