I padded out of my bedroom and downstairs this morning in a pair of threadbare, purple-plaid pajama bottoms, a striped tank-top( not in coordinating colors), an oversized, shapeless cardigan and a pair of heavy brown wool socks. I was not trying to escape a raging fire. I had not been found wandering aimlessly through my neighborhood in an amnesiac fugue. I selected this ensemble. By myself. On purpose.
I didn’t select it as much as I gave in to it.
Oh! How I used to be so glamorous! I glided through my youth soaked in the finest champagnes; stringed with glittering jewels. I danced with John Travolta. I held court in bubbling Ritz-Carlton hot tubs. I was the muse of Valentino. I yachted in St.Tropez. I turned down Matt Damon’s marriage proposal! Broke his heart y’all.
Okay, right, I didn’t do any of those things. But I did shower a lot more. So, I had that going for me.
And my life was a little bit glamorous. I worked for years for Tiffany & Co., the prestigious jewelry house, so that’s kinda fancy, right? In fact, it was pretty much the only job I ever had. I was hired just out of college, and stayed with them until just three and a half years ago. I wasn’t in the famous fifth avenue flagship store, but just outside NYC in affluent Westchester county. We had our share of celebrities and high rollers. I sold a few pieces of jewelry that cost more than the average U.S. home, if you can imagine. We certainly had far more than our share of overly entitled, obnoxious clients who barreled into the store and spoke to us all as if we were their household staff- if their household was in nineteenth century England, that is. But THAT is a blog for another time, lord have mercy…..
It all seems like a world away sometimes. That Heather, who we’ll refer to as, let’s see….just off the top of my head here, ‘Awesome Heather’, would never have found herself so miserably attired. She wore make-up everyday. She wore tailored suits and heels that clickity-clacked as she walked about, her washed and styled hair bouncing. Awesome Heather was confident. Her cheeks were pink. Everything fit and buttoned and closed.
I have made it back into my pre-pregnancy size now, so I can’t complain that much. While I am able to button my pants again, I somehow don’t fit in them the same way anymore. You know how it’s said about water that it takes the path of least resistance? Yeah, that’s what’s happening now with my body. Flesh bulges through or up and over any opening. My stomach is squishier too. And it has this pooch. This g*#%@*mn pooch that no amount of Pilates will flatten out. No amount! Okay, yes, if I went to a Pilates class once in awhile it might help, what’s your point?
So, my husband says to me, “I’d rather that we have our son than that you have a flat stomach.” That helps to put things in perspective, and it really isn’t my pre-Luka body that I’m missing today( but I’ll get back to it someday, fear not). The Heather that I’m wistful for is the one that was so……fun.
Awesome Heather raised hell! Broke a few laws, if we’re getting really candid. She laughed so hard she pee’d her pants while having a Froot Loop eating contest. Why else? She flashed people, she took overnight road-trips at the drop of a hat. She was spontaneous, funny, and carefree and she laughed all the time. She shaved her head, twice! She read all the time. She was all fired up and idealistic. It was easy to sleep, and there was so much less to worry about, and she could eat so much food without gaining a pound! She had all this going for her and do you know what Awesome Heather really wanted? She wanted to fall in love with the man who would be her husband. She wanted to be a mother.
She was always looking forward; wishing and waiting. Wishing and waiting.
I miss that girl. If I could, I would find her, probably strolling dreamily through the nursery department at Bloomingdales, and assure her that everything is coming to her. Everything she’s praying for. It’s all on the way. I’d tell her that she can’t feel it, but she is hurtling towards her future. Slow down, girl, slow down. Enjoy this……
I would tell her, that for the love of god, do not buy those “comfy” plaid pajama bottoms; Future Heather is never going to throw them away.