Designated Fat Girl by Jennifer Joyner Page B

three days the best I could. And I was never caught again in wintertime without an extra set of clothes packed in my car.

    I have reached a new wardrobe low. Eli’s baptism is almost here, and I have nothing to wear. And I don’t mean I have nothing that I like; I mean I have absolutely nothing dressy that will fit my body. Going shopping for clothes is right at the top of the list of things I hate to do, along with going to the dentist and having my taxes audited. But this is one special occasion I cannot—I will not—miss.
    Nothing would make me happier than to buy a beautiful sundress in a pretty pastel color. It’s April, and we’re holding the party after the baptism in our backyard. Everywhere you look the colors of spring are bursting, and I’d love to match, or at least come close to matching, the joy of the occasion with my outfit. But pastel and three hundred pounds don’t really go that well together, and at the rate I’m going, color is not going to be a privilege afforded to me. I’ve been to all the major department stores and have come up empty—nothing fits. Fighting back tears, I make my way down to the mall to one of the specialty shops. I should be used to this by now: wanting something to wear for a special occasion and being utterly disappointed by my choices—or lack thereof. But this really hurts. This is mybaby boy’s baptism. After some initial health problems at birth, he’s now thriving at nine months old and cute as all get out. I want to celebrate with my family and friends; I want how I look to reflect how I feel about Eli. But how I look only reflects the inner turmoil that rocks me on a daily basis, and a drab outfit bought in an act of desperation certainly will not help matters.
    In the end I settle for a black linen jacket and a hot pink shell to wear underneath. I pair them with the same long black skirt I’ve worn on many occasions, a skirt that honestly looks like a bedsheet. Dressed in black, in the springtime, at an outdoor party for my baby boy’s baptism. Lovely. As unexcited as I am about the outfit, I’m even more depressed at how much the clothes cost me.
At least Michael will have something to bury me in,
I tell myself.

    I certainly could have handled it all a whole lot differently, perhaps have even made myself feel better, if I’d simply done all I could to help my appearance. Even if I was heavier than I’d ever been, even if I had to shop high and low for hours on end, I should have made more of an effort. But truly, the reality of how I looked put me into a state of shock. As the weight piled on, there were things happening to me that I never thought possible.

    You know how some people have double chins? Well I definitely had those, and I think one extra. But what was reallyweird is at one point I had three
stomachs.
It was right after my second C-section. I remember my sister-in-law saying her C-section permanently damaged her abdomen, that no matter what she did as far as exercise and diet, she couldn’t get her stomach flat again. I scoffed at that notion, especially after my first C-section, in which my stomach went back to its normal (lumpy) state. Nothing looked different to me (unfortunately). But after my second surgery, it did change. I had the same roll of fat above the belly button, you know, right above where you fasten your pants (or for me, tie the drawstring). And then I had the same enormous roll of fat below the navel. But in between the two, I developed a third layer of blubber that added incredible insult to injury. Sucking it in? Not even close to an option, although really, it wasn’t much of an option before. Still, I looked like an absolute freak, and it wasn’t just my stomach making me feel that way.
    About a year after I started gaining weight and was unable to stop it, I started to lose my hair. As I tell this now, it’s easier, because it started so long ago and I have since accepted it. But at the time, I was beyond