FatHead

If you are tired of my endless blogging about my weight loss, you should probably stop here unless you are going out of your mind with boredom and don't have an old Oriental Trading catalog from 2003 to read. Cuz I'm blogging again. About weight loss.
It started 11 months ago. I started fasting in February and had my lap band surgery in March. So normally 11 months is enough of an adjustment period. Time enough to get used to the idea that one's body is changing. Shrinking. But I'll be damned if I'm not just fucking amazed every.single.time. I buy clothes. And I feel the need to share it. I'm not all bragging about how I rock and how I've done this amazing thing. I'm just genuinely shocked that it really worked. And that for the first time in....?......30 years maybe? I don't need to reach to the back of the clothing rack, all the way to the biggest size available, for the longest and loosest shirt in the store. It's still a mind fuck I tell you. Because I still have a fathead. In my mind and probably because it's just always been this way, I cannot embrace the fact that I am not a size 30/32. I can't, even if I wanted to, shop in Lane Bryant or Avenue or Catherine's "stout" shop (as it was once, so long ago called). I'm in the regular department, buying normal sizes. And the sizes? They keep getting smaller. I never was good at math.
Even as recently as the day before yesterday, I bought a few pair of pants at Stein Mart breezing quickly through and grabbing some Seven jeans on sale and I went for the size 14 figuring that the other Seven jeans I had at home were 14's and although I had opted for my Buckle jeans lately I was sure the 14's would still be fine. Um, even though the scale is still reflecting losses every day. I'm not sure how many pounds equate to a pant size but low and behold, when I got home the 14's were too big.
After I returned the 14's and nervously grabbed the 12's wondering if the cashier would (as I always do, I know it's sick but I can't help it) ask me if Ineeded gift receipts because surely these little size 12 jeans could not be for this fatass who stands before her. Once I got home, I held them up and thought, whoa chick I dunno, these are pretty small. But what the hell! they do fit me. And I just can't grasp it. I'm a fathead. In my mind, I am still not, definitely not, a 12.
So, here's the proof because if you've seen the pictures I've posted you are probably thinking the same thing... "she don't look like no 12 to me, nuh uh, no way sister".
I fished the tag out of the garbage. Will I EVER get used to this? Will I always be a fathead?