You're a Fatty and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

**Clap**Clap**

I am fat. I am overweight. I am obese if you consider my BMI (fuck you BMI, you're stupid!)
I have struggled with my weight my whole. entire. life. More than my physical weight, I have struggled with the perception my size and with how that coincides with my worth. There was never a period of time in my life that I did not feel I needed to be dieting or exercising to change my body in some way. There has only been fleeting moments where I am happy in the now and forget about my hangups and short-comings. Some of those moments are when I give in to a big plate of food and just go for it.

I believe this to be the case with most women, regardless of size. We do not see ourselves as the rest of the world does. We can easily zoom in and enhance our least favorite features. If we think about it too hard, we can be reduced to a sobbing pile of mush. Getting dressed in the morning is often a source of tears and I end up leaving the house unsatisfied and knowing there is no better decision available.

I am tall, heavy and I carry most of my weight around my middle. Looking like a pregnant lady has been something I have been concerned about for a while now. I carry most of my weight in my gut, and if I don't dress myself accordingly I could enhance that and look like I'm six months along.

I remember working at a restaurant when I was about 21. One of my coworkers, a cute, bubbly big boobed shorty was wearing her apron tied just under her boobs. I would not have thought of her as fat at all. A customer asked her when she was due and she responded that she was not pregnant at all. She did have a cute little potbelly along with a nice set of knockers and a round behind. I was jealous of her curves and her style, as she dressed herself very well. She went into the back room crying. I thought that would be the worst thing, if someone was to ask me if I was pregnant. I had been steadily increasing in size since I started working there, the food was just so damn good! What if that happened to me? Pregnant was a bad word. I was young, unmarried, a minimum wage job and a really shitty boyfriend. Not to mention the drinking. Being pregnant would be devastating.

A day did not go by without concern for my ever expanding waistline. As I got older, that never got better. I even lost 55 lbs. with the weight watchers program when I was 25. I weighed less than I had in the sixth grade! I still thought I was 50 lbs or more from my goal and I knew I'd never make it. I met my husband after that weight loss. It lowly crept back up as I was happier than ever. Meeting Paul gave me a new comfort that I had never felt before. I didn't count my points or go to meetings, but I did choose healthy foods. The number on the scale went up anyway.

After Paul and I were married, I became much more worried that I could be mistaken for pregnant. People who knew me saw I had gained some weight, I was happy and I was newly wed. It would be easier than ever to come to that conclusion. While being pregnant wouldn't have been the end of the world now, I still didn't want people staring at my gut and wondering if I was. I struggled with my wardrobe every morning. Hide the belly, hide it! But don't hide it TOO well or they will THINK I'm TRYING to hide it! If I had a nickle for every time I place my hand on my lower belly, relaxed and pushed it out, turning sideways asking my husband 'does this make me look pregnant?' I would have, like, at least a dollar fifty! And then I would give that buck fiddy to my wonderful husband for surviving those oh-so-awkward encounters. I love him.

Now I AM pregnant. Being pregnant is good! I am a married 29 year old woman! I am not an unwed 14 year old girl blasting Tupac on my boombox in my parents basement and I applied brown eyeliner to my lips and fill in my freshly shaved eyebrows with that same pencil. It is very appropriate for me to be with child. I should not be ashamed, and I am not ashamed. However, I am only five weeks along and I am not ready to tell everybody yet. I have told my husband, my mother, and my best friend who is a mother herself but no one else. I want to wait until after my first doctors appointment to spread the happy news. I am especially concerned about my coworkers finding out. It will be a big deal for me to take a lot of time off and I want to be prepared before this information is let out.

I work at an auto body shop with 20 men. There is one other woman that works in accounts payable and she is probably in her sixty's. I think all the guys at work are smart enough to know you NEVER ask if a lady if she is prego unless you want someone sobbing and wiping mascara all over your shoulder, or maybe even plucking your eyes out and shoving them down your throat. Most of them are married, and most of them have children of their own. However, several of them have just had new babies and one guy's wife is currently pregnant again, so they all have babies on the brain for sure. I am asked once and a while when I plan to have kids and I never know how to answer that question.

The new thought that comes to mind when I'm worrying about my physical appearance, is my future child and how that will effect them. My mother struggled with her weight and self image. She tried to do everything she could to help me avoid the same fate, but instead I've just repeated her behavior. Swing dieting and negative self talk. A year from now if I ask my husband 'Hey, does this make me look fat?' there will be a tiny set of ears listening. They will hear me complain when I step on the scale, they will see my disappointment when I look in the mirror and they will soak it all up and store it inside of them. The new goal in place is not a number on the scale or a dress size, it is simply accepting my physical self as it is at any given time. That does not mean I give up trying to be healthy or find nice clothes. It just means that I will refuse to talk down to myself and find disappointment in who I am today. Easier said than done, but I have 8 months to practice before my little sponge arrives.