I've noticed for a couple weeks now some heartburn in the late afternoons and evening but I was hoping it was a one-off thing.
It's happened often enough now that I don't think it is just episodic. I think I have reflux, and I think my band is causing it. I've only ever had heartburn while I'm pregnant, and I know *for sure* that's not the case now. I have been dreading this, as so many other bandsters have run into reflux about 15-18 months after surgery. My surgery was 19 months ago.
The heartburn isn't terrible, at least not yet, and I'm not waking up coughing at night. But I'm concerned about where this is heading. I took a Zantac half an hour ago and I'm hoping it'll keep the heartburn under control.
We're heading out of town again on Friday. I can't wait to enjoy the mountain air and do some fun hikes with the kids! I have an appointment with my surgeon when I get home, and I'll see what he has to say about all this.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Home!
We're back, after a whirlwind vacation to Atlantis in the Bahamas. My parents took all 15 members of our immediate family to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary. It was chaotic, and so much fun. I'm exhausted.
I'm looking forward to catching up on everyone's blogs. Special thanks to Jessica at Island Bandit, who provided totally fantastic guidance on our trip. People, she even got me the cellphone number of someone in her surgeon's office in case I had a band emergency while I was away. That is true band sisterhood. I'm only sorry we didn't get to meet up. Did I mention it was chaotic? (My middle child got lost twice. I am a bad mother.)
Monday, June 20, 2011
The (Accidental) Brazilian
**
We leave Thursday for our vacation, so I scheduled a bikini wax today.
I rarely get bikini waxes; they require me to show in broad daylight parts of my body I otherwise save only for gynecological exams. Also, I had a particularly unfortunate experience with a bikini wax in 2009, a few days before the birth of my third child. The waxing lady's wax was too hot, but I didn't realize it at the time because she spritzed me with a numbing spray. It wasn't until I got home and started experiencing excruciating pain, requiring me to take to my bed with my hooch covered in ice packs, that I realized something had gone terribly wrong. It was another day or two, when the peeling started, before I realized it wasn't an allergic reaction to the wax but rather an honest-to-God second-degree burn featuring blistering and peeling. All over my lady parts. While I was 10 months pregnant. Which, I can't lie, added a certain unpleasantness to my C-section.
But I'm 38 now, so I'm trying to branch out and act like a pragmatic grownup who knows that waxing is the way to go for a beach vacation. Since I was going to be at the spa already, I also scheduled a facial.
There was a (minor, I thought at the time) language barrier, wherein the aesthetician was from Eastern Europe and speaks English as a second language. I thought nothing of it. She asked what kind of wax I wanted and I said, "Definitely not a Brazilian. Just regular." And then the facial commenced, with lotions and potions and lovely facial massage and a long and borderline excruciating extraction process. Finally, she put a thick masque on my skin, leaving small openings for my nostrils and lips but otherwise slathering it on nice and thick.
Then, while the masque was setting, she moved to do the bikini wax. I was laying on the table, legs akimbo, face immobilized by expensive goop. The aesthetician lady moved quickly and before I realized what was happening, I felt the heat of the wax and heard the whirrrring of electric clippers followed by several hair-raising rrrrrips that resulted in so much pain I shrieked, "YIKES."
"Don't worry, we're done," she said briskly. "With that side."
Then it started all over again, on the other side. And I was powerless, blinded by the masque goop, totally exposed from the waist down, menaced by the electric trimmers and starting to twitch from the entire experience.
At the end, I was presented with a $254 bill. Numbed and dazed, I paid and stumbled to my car.
Tomorrow I go back to my surgeon for a fill. I can't imagine it will be even remotely as traumatic as the wax.
** This is actually what I look like.
We leave Thursday for our vacation, so I scheduled a bikini wax today.
I rarely get bikini waxes; they require me to show in broad daylight parts of my body I otherwise save only for gynecological exams. Also, I had a particularly unfortunate experience with a bikini wax in 2009, a few days before the birth of my third child. The waxing lady's wax was too hot, but I didn't realize it at the time because she spritzed me with a numbing spray. It wasn't until I got home and started experiencing excruciating pain, requiring me to take to my bed with my hooch covered in ice packs, that I realized something had gone terribly wrong. It was another day or two, when the peeling started, before I realized it wasn't an allergic reaction to the wax but rather an honest-to-God second-degree burn featuring blistering and peeling. All over my lady parts. While I was 10 months pregnant. Which, I can't lie, added a certain unpleasantness to my C-section.
But I'm 38 now, so I'm trying to branch out and act like a pragmatic grownup who knows that waxing is the way to go for a beach vacation. Since I was going to be at the spa already, I also scheduled a facial.
There was a (minor, I thought at the time) language barrier, wherein the aesthetician was from Eastern Europe and speaks English as a second language. I thought nothing of it. She asked what kind of wax I wanted and I said, "Definitely not a Brazilian. Just regular." And then the facial commenced, with lotions and potions and lovely facial massage and a long and borderline excruciating extraction process. Finally, she put a thick masque on my skin, leaving small openings for my nostrils and lips but otherwise slathering it on nice and thick.
Then, while the masque was setting, she moved to do the bikini wax. I was laying on the table, legs akimbo, face immobilized by expensive goop. The aesthetician lady moved quickly and before I realized what was happening, I felt the heat of the wax and heard the whirrrring of electric clippers followed by several hair-raising rrrrrips that resulted in so much pain I shrieked, "YIKES."
"Don't worry, we're done," she said briskly. "With that side."
Then it started all over again, on the other side. And I was powerless, blinded by the masque goop, totally exposed from the waist down, menaced by the electric trimmers and starting to twitch from the entire experience.
At the end, I was presented with a $254 bill. Numbed and dazed, I paid and stumbled to my car.
Tomorrow I go back to my surgeon for a fill. I can't imagine it will be even remotely as traumatic as the wax.
** This is actually what I look like.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Self-Stabbing: A Cautionary Tale
I wasn't sure if I would blog about this, because I know my reputation for being boring and uptight responsible will take a major hit. But since I started this blog to keep track of the whole band saga, I can't leave this part out.
About three weeks ago I had a fill, and it was a tough one. I was too tight, as Gilly wisely pointed out when I mentioned that I threw up way too often. But I have an appointment scheduled for next week so I was hoping to just hang on, maybe drop a few extra pounds and see my surgeon just before we leave for the Bahamas next week.
I had several consecutive days of throwing up every day, sometimes twice. This is really rare for me - when I get sick, it's usually once every month or so, around ovulation or my period. That's it. But just as I was about to call my doctor, the damn thing opened up and I was able to eat with caution. Definitely enough to get the nutrition I needed, although probably not enough solids. Anyway, was planning to get the unfill when I go in on the 20th.
Then on Tuesday I got sick in the morning, and things just got worse and worse. I was in the middle of preparing for a cocktail party and kept having to run to throw up. I was shaky from not having been able to keep anything down, miserable and beyond anxious about the party.
My doctor's office is usually tough to get into, and time was of the essence. While I was heaving into the toilet, I looked up and saw a baggie with a syringe and needle. My surgeon had given it to me to take when I travel, after I told him that my mom and sister are nurses. He gave me rudimentary tips to pass on to them, and reassured me that in a pinch he thought they'd be fine taking some fluid out because it's not that hard.
Here, friends, is where the wheels came off.
All logic went out the window. I was desperate to loosen my band, there were people downstairs getting my house ready for a party, my kids were about to come home from school, I was expecting 70 guests in a few hours. I washed my hands, swabbed my abdomen with alcohol and started stabbing. I laid down (like my surgeon does it), but couldn't hit the target. I stood up. Still no luck. I swabbed and swabbed the little pinholes of blood, feeling more desperate every time and occasionally stopping to throw up again. Good times.
Finally, even I realized this was a really bad idea. I called my surgeon's office; he was out of town but his partner agreed to meet me. I was hugely relieved.
Then I started panicking, because it was pretty clear that someone had been messing with my port. I figured I'd get Worst Patient in the World status if I told the truth, but I rarely, rarely lie. I would like to tell you it's because I know lying is wrong and it's a moral boundary that I don't care to cross. The truth (ha, see how I did that?) is that I don't lie because I am terrible at it, almost always start sweating before I have even finished telling the lie, and end up blurting out the truth before the other person has had a chance to say a word.
But this time I had no intention of telling this doctor I had never met before that I had repeatedly stabbed myself in the stomach with a syringe. Instead, I told him my mom was visiting, she gave it a try per the other doctor's tips and didn't have any luck.
Guess what? He didn't actually care. He's a jolly Greek guy, very sweet, listened to my explanation, took a look and started giggling. He told me when he was a resident they used to call it the "showerhead," lots of little pricks in a circle when someone's trying to hit the target and misses over and over. Heh.
He unfilled me, a lot, to give everything a chance to calm down. I went from 5.7 cc's to 4.2 cc's. So now I feel better and I'm able to eat, which is both a blessing and a curse. I go back to my regular surgeon on Tuesday to get back to a more reasonable fill level, but lower than I had been before.
Through all of this, I have not lost a single pound. I can't say I'm loving my band right now, I really can't.
However, by some grace of God, I don't have MRSA or any other godawful infection from my mishap with the needle. Take it from me: Don't try to unfill yourself. I won't be doing it again, that's for sure.
About three weeks ago I had a fill, and it was a tough one. I was too tight, as Gilly wisely pointed out when I mentioned that I threw up way too often. But I have an appointment scheduled for next week so I was hoping to just hang on, maybe drop a few extra pounds and see my surgeon just before we leave for the Bahamas next week.
I had several consecutive days of throwing up every day, sometimes twice. This is really rare for me - when I get sick, it's usually once every month or so, around ovulation or my period. That's it. But just as I was about to call my doctor, the damn thing opened up and I was able to eat with caution. Definitely enough to get the nutrition I needed, although probably not enough solids. Anyway, was planning to get the unfill when I go in on the 20th.
Then on Tuesday I got sick in the morning, and things just got worse and worse. I was in the middle of preparing for a cocktail party and kept having to run to throw up. I was shaky from not having been able to keep anything down, miserable and beyond anxious about the party.
My doctor's office is usually tough to get into, and time was of the essence. While I was heaving into the toilet, I looked up and saw a baggie with a syringe and needle. My surgeon had given it to me to take when I travel, after I told him that my mom and sister are nurses. He gave me rudimentary tips to pass on to them, and reassured me that in a pinch he thought they'd be fine taking some fluid out because it's not that hard.
Here, friends, is where the wheels came off.
All logic went out the window. I was desperate to loosen my band, there were people downstairs getting my house ready for a party, my kids were about to come home from school, I was expecting 70 guests in a few hours. I washed my hands, swabbed my abdomen with alcohol and started stabbing. I laid down (like my surgeon does it), but couldn't hit the target. I stood up. Still no luck. I swabbed and swabbed the little pinholes of blood, feeling more desperate every time and occasionally stopping to throw up again. Good times.
Finally, even I realized this was a really bad idea. I called my surgeon's office; he was out of town but his partner agreed to meet me. I was hugely relieved.
Then I started panicking, because it was pretty clear that someone had been messing with my port. I figured I'd get Worst Patient in the World status if I told the truth, but I rarely, rarely lie. I would like to tell you it's because I know lying is wrong and it's a moral boundary that I don't care to cross. The truth (ha, see how I did that?) is that I don't lie because I am terrible at it, almost always start sweating before I have even finished telling the lie, and end up blurting out the truth before the other person has had a chance to say a word.
But this time I had no intention of telling this doctor I had never met before that I had repeatedly stabbed myself in the stomach with a syringe. Instead, I told him my mom was visiting, she gave it a try per the other doctor's tips and didn't have any luck.
Guess what? He didn't actually care. He's a jolly Greek guy, very sweet, listened to my explanation, took a look and started giggling. He told me when he was a resident they used to call it the "showerhead," lots of little pricks in a circle when someone's trying to hit the target and misses over and over. Heh.
He unfilled me, a lot, to give everything a chance to calm down. I went from 5.7 cc's to 4.2 cc's. So now I feel better and I'm able to eat, which is both a blessing and a curse. I go back to my regular surgeon on Tuesday to get back to a more reasonable fill level, but lower than I had been before.
Through all of this, I have not lost a single pound. I can't say I'm loving my band right now, I really can't.
However, by some grace of God, I don't have MRSA or any other godawful infection from my mishap with the needle. Take it from me: Don't try to unfill yourself. I won't be doing it again, that's for sure.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Running With Rob Lowe
I went for a run last night. I haven't run in a good long while, and it wasn't as hard as I expected, possibly because I was running at a 45-minute-mile-ish pace. My knees gave me some grief, but aren't sore today so I'm hoping they will adjust.
I'm listening to Rob Lowe's memoir on audible.com and in addition to bringing back lots of teen-angst hours fantasizing about those eyes and that jawline, it's a funny and insightful book about his life and career.
I was out for 40 minutes, alternated running and walking and didn't burn anything near as much as I burn in my average gym class, calorie-wise. So I won't be ditching the gym for running entirely, but it's a nice option when I don't have a lot of time for a full gym visit.
I'm 209.4 as of this morning, which is somewhat perplexing since I've been fairly tight and eating not bad. I'll just keep eating good stuff and exercising, and at some point it'll have to start moving in my favor, right?
Tonight we're hosting a cocktail party for new families coming to my kids' nursery school; we're expecting about 70 people. The patio is power washed, the windows are sparkling, the flowers are planted and the wine is chilling. Wish me luck.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
I Think I'm Doing It Wrong
Greetings from the land of retching, gagging and sliming. I've had three episodes in the last couple of days, and it's getting old fast.
I can't tell if I'm too tight, or if I'm just not being careful enough. On one hand, if I didn't eat or drink anything ever I definitely wouldn't throw up. On the other hand, maybe I just haven't gotten serious enough about tiny bites, 30 seconds in between each bite (thanks for that reminder, V), etc.
Oh blah, I don't know. This is so wearying sometimes, it makes me crazy. I'm at 208.2, and as of today I've lost 57.3 pounds in the 17 months since my surgery. These are not impressive numbers, and I'm frustrated. I'm clearly doing this wrong. People lose double this amount in their first year!
This morning I was hungry and heading to the gym, so I took three tiny - TINY - bites of a Zone bar while I was helping to pack up my boys for tonight's big Cub Scout campout. Those bites didn't go down and it took forever to get it all out - I wrapped it up throwing up into a bag in the gym parking lot, was late for my exercise class and ended up just doing 40 minutes on the elliptical.
The other night I got sick on turkey chili that I blended and thinned with chicken stock. I mean, COME ON. Really?
Before this latest fill of 0.1 cc's, I felt like I was eating wayyy too much. This time I feel like I can't eat very much and I hate hate HATE all these vomiting episodes. But we're talking about a difference of 0.1 cc's here. Minuscule.
Obviously there needs to be a behavioral component involved, but shouldn't there be a happy middle ground? I just can't figure this out. And now I'm swollen from getting sick this morning so I'm afraid of eating.
I can't tell if I'm too tight, or if I'm just not being careful enough. On one hand, if I didn't eat or drink anything ever I definitely wouldn't throw up. On the other hand, maybe I just haven't gotten serious enough about tiny bites, 30 seconds in between each bite (thanks for that reminder, V), etc.
Oh blah, I don't know. This is so wearying sometimes, it makes me crazy. I'm at 208.2, and as of today I've lost 57.3 pounds in the 17 months since my surgery. These are not impressive numbers, and I'm frustrated. I'm clearly doing this wrong. People lose double this amount in their first year!
This morning I was hungry and heading to the gym, so I took three tiny - TINY - bites of a Zone bar while I was helping to pack up my boys for tonight's big Cub Scout campout. Those bites didn't go down and it took forever to get it all out - I wrapped it up throwing up into a bag in the gym parking lot, was late for my exercise class and ended up just doing 40 minutes on the elliptical.
The other night I got sick on turkey chili that I blended and thinned with chicken stock. I mean, COME ON. Really?
Before this latest fill of 0.1 cc's, I felt like I was eating wayyy too much. This time I feel like I can't eat very much and I hate hate HATE all these vomiting episodes. But we're talking about a difference of 0.1 cc's here. Minuscule.
Obviously there needs to be a behavioral component involved, but shouldn't there be a happy middle ground? I just can't figure this out. And now I'm swollen from getting sick this morning so I'm afraid of eating.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Makeover Week, Part 1
I signed up for one of those free "events" at Bobbi Brown today and had a little makeover. Of course, it didn't end up being free since I bought a bunch of the stuff the makeup artist used. But we got a crappy diagnosis today for my five-year-old niece, so it was a nice little distraction.
Tomorrow I go for a much-needed haircut, so please excuse the pulled-back hair.
I took some of my new clothes to the tailor for some nips and tucks, and I'll model those and my new shoes when I get them all back.
I'm trying to decide now whether to meet a friend for kickboxing tonight at the gym or take advantage of the glorious weather and just go for a nice, long walk. Either way, good options for exercise, right?
Tomorrow I go for a much-needed haircut, so please excuse the pulled-back hair.
I took some of my new clothes to the tailor for some nips and tucks, and I'll model those and my new shoes when I get them all back.
I'm trying to decide now whether to meet a friend for kickboxing tonight at the gym or take advantage of the glorious weather and just go for a nice, long walk. Either way, good options for exercise, right?
Monday, May 30, 2011
How's That Fill Working Out For Ya?
I notice a real difference with this fill. It was tiny, just 0.1 cc, but it's like night and day in terms of what I can and can't eat. Which is good - my volume is way down, and bad - can't do much in the way of vegetables.
I've stuck mostly to liquids to be on the safe side, but there's some weirdness happening. Yesterday I was able to eat a moist turkey burger at a lunchtime bbq (I know, crazy, right?) but got stuck after two bites of scallops last night at dinner. This morning my tea took a while to drink and I had blended turkey chili for lunch to keep things going down easy. Tonight I had a bite of parmesan cheese, it got stuck and now I'm sliming.
I've had a lot less sugar and a lot more exercise, and guess what? The scale isn't moving. So I'm frustrated.
But I tried on my pretty new dress this afternoon and it looks nice. I'm trying to be positive even though I'm feeling kind of pissy.
I am thinking less often about food, and not feeling much hunger, now that I think about it. So that's good too.
At my appointment, I talked to my surgeon about my trip to the Bahamas later this month, and how nervous I am that I'll get too tight and spend the whole time getting sick. After I told him my mom and sister are both nurses, he gave me a syringe and needle to take with me so if I have an emergency they can take some fluid out of my band. It's extreme, but it's a huge weight off my shoulders and now I don't feel like I'll have to get an unfill before we go to make sure all goes smoothly.
OK, I think whatever was stuck has moved on. No PB this time. WOOT.
I've stuck mostly to liquids to be on the safe side, but there's some weirdness happening. Yesterday I was able to eat a moist turkey burger at a lunchtime bbq (I know, crazy, right?) but got stuck after two bites of scallops last night at dinner. This morning my tea took a while to drink and I had blended turkey chili for lunch to keep things going down easy. Tonight I had a bite of parmesan cheese, it got stuck and now I'm sliming.
I've had a lot less sugar and a lot more exercise, and guess what? The scale isn't moving. So I'm frustrated.
But I tried on my pretty new dress this afternoon and it looks nice. I'm trying to be positive even though I'm feeling kind of pissy.
I am thinking less often about food, and not feeling much hunger, now that I think about it. So that's good too.
At my appointment, I talked to my surgeon about my trip to the Bahamas later this month, and how nervous I am that I'll get too tight and spend the whole time getting sick. After I told him my mom and sister are both nurses, he gave me a syringe and needle to take with me so if I have an emergency they can take some fluid out of my band. It's extreme, but it's a huge weight off my shoulders and now I don't feel like I'll have to get an unfill before we go to make sure all goes smoothly.
OK, I think whatever was stuck has moved on. No PB this time. WOOT.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Fill Fill Fill
I got a little fill today, just 0.1 cc. Had a long chat with my surgeon about my lack of progress over the last several months, and he went over the basics again with me. Which is really what I need to focus on. He gently reminded me that sometimes eating comfortably with the band isn't the same as eating wisely with the band.
I went to the gym and worked out this afternoon, and I'm on a mission to drop the seven pounds that have crept up on me since the end of March and keep going until my weight FINALLY starts with a 1.
My new clothes from Saks arrived today! Still have to try them on in the comfort of my house to decide how much I really like them.
I went to the gym and worked out this afternoon, and I'm on a mission to drop the seven pounds that have crept up on me since the end of March and keep going until my weight FINALLY starts with a 1.
My new clothes from Saks arrived today! Still have to try them on in the comfort of my house to decide how much I really like them.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Shopping Photos
It's been so long since I've posted, I'm going the bullet route.
* I had a slight unfill at the end of March because I had some trips coming up and was afraid I'd run into trouble while I was away from home. I scheduled a fill appointment when I got back from one trip but rescheduled because I had to go back to Florida for a few days. That second appointment was a bust because I waited for 45 minutes and the doctor still had another 15-20 minutes before he could see me. My daughter was about to lose it, so I rescheduled. The office called me to cancel that one because my doctor was unavailable. I am FINALLY supposed to get a small fill tomorrow. Cross your fingers that it actually happens. I'm going to suggest my doctor hire a PA to handle fills.
* My eating has not been great. Since the unfill, I've gained a few pounds, and they're real pounds, not water weight. Weighed in at 210.2 yesterday.
* My exercise is really starting to gain momentum. An awesome new gym opened in our town, and let me tell you it's been a long time coming. Until now, we haven't had much to speak of in terms of a really fun, nice place with great facilities and innovative classes. To that end, I decided to try every single group fitness class the gym offers. So far I've tried six different classes (a few of them, like Zumba and spinning, several times). It's fun to mix it up.
* I have a big family beach vacation next month, and I need a couple dresses for dinners and some summer stuff. My sizes haven't changed much; I remain in limbo between fat-girl store clothes and regular store clothes. Which makes shopping a little more complicated and not a lot of fun when I have to concede defeat and go to the plus size section.
I got this at Bloomingdale's a few weeks ago, and had a few compliments when I wore it recently:
Here's my problem (in addition to not being able to wear normal sizes): I want to look put together. I would like to be able to put an outfit together and accessorize. I'm not good at it. I really want someone to just pick out my clothes for me every day, and make sure they're comfortable.
I took a page from Catherine's book, since she is always so impeccably dressed, and made an appointment at Saks Fifth Avenue with a personal shopper. Yesterday, I took the train into New York and had a nice little day to myself. I was so looking forward to this appointment, and I think my expectations were a little too high. I was hoping she would tell me exactly what to wear and what not to wear, which shoes to wear with things and what jewelry to put with each outfit. I think she would have, if only I had asked for complete outfits. It didn't occur to me to be that specific, but I will next time.
I tried on about 20 dresses, shirts and pants and bought four things. I only got pictures of two of them, when the dresser stepped outside for a minute, because I felt like a jackass taking pictures of myself in front of her and her assistant. In both of these pictures, I'm wearing the jeans I wore into the city yesterday, so pay no attention to the bottom half. (Also, it was rainy and humid so my hair went all crazy frizzy.)
I had asked the dresser to pull sizes 16, 18 and 20 for me. The 20s were uniformly too big, as were most of the 18 tops, so that was good news. I am still firmly an 18 on the bottom. Blech.
This one is a silk Michael Kors number, on sale:
This one is a little too tight so I'll save it for a few pounds from now. I feel like it's kind of Jersey housewife, so let me know if you don't like it. Be honest!
I had my hair highlighted between the two shopping outings. Now I just need a haircut.
When I get the dress I bought I'll try it on. I like it, but I'm not in love with it like I was in love with Shaun Cassidy in kindergarten. So we'll see...
* I had a slight unfill at the end of March because I had some trips coming up and was afraid I'd run into trouble while I was away from home. I scheduled a fill appointment when I got back from one trip but rescheduled because I had to go back to Florida for a few days. That second appointment was a bust because I waited for 45 minutes and the doctor still had another 15-20 minutes before he could see me. My daughter was about to lose it, so I rescheduled. The office called me to cancel that one because my doctor was unavailable. I am FINALLY supposed to get a small fill tomorrow. Cross your fingers that it actually happens. I'm going to suggest my doctor hire a PA to handle fills.
* My eating has not been great. Since the unfill, I've gained a few pounds, and they're real pounds, not water weight. Weighed in at 210.2 yesterday.
* My exercise is really starting to gain momentum. An awesome new gym opened in our town, and let me tell you it's been a long time coming. Until now, we haven't had much to speak of in terms of a really fun, nice place with great facilities and innovative classes. To that end, I decided to try every single group fitness class the gym offers. So far I've tried six different classes (a few of them, like Zumba and spinning, several times). It's fun to mix it up.
* I have a big family beach vacation next month, and I need a couple dresses for dinners and some summer stuff. My sizes haven't changed much; I remain in limbo between fat-girl store clothes and regular store clothes. Which makes shopping a little more complicated and not a lot of fun when I have to concede defeat and go to the plus size section.
I got this at Bloomingdale's a few weeks ago, and had a few compliments when I wore it recently:
Here's my problem (in addition to not being able to wear normal sizes): I want to look put together. I would like to be able to put an outfit together and accessorize. I'm not good at it. I really want someone to just pick out my clothes for me every day, and make sure they're comfortable.
I took a page from Catherine's book, since she is always so impeccably dressed, and made an appointment at Saks Fifth Avenue with a personal shopper. Yesterday, I took the train into New York and had a nice little day to myself. I was so looking forward to this appointment, and I think my expectations were a little too high. I was hoping she would tell me exactly what to wear and what not to wear, which shoes to wear with things and what jewelry to put with each outfit. I think she would have, if only I had asked for complete outfits. It didn't occur to me to be that specific, but I will next time.
I tried on about 20 dresses, shirts and pants and bought four things. I only got pictures of two of them, when the dresser stepped outside for a minute, because I felt like a jackass taking pictures of myself in front of her and her assistant. In both of these pictures, I'm wearing the jeans I wore into the city yesterday, so pay no attention to the bottom half. (Also, it was rainy and humid so my hair went all crazy frizzy.)
I had asked the dresser to pull sizes 16, 18 and 20 for me. The 20s were uniformly too big, as were most of the 18 tops, so that was good news. I am still firmly an 18 on the bottom. Blech.
This one is a silk Michael Kors number, on sale:
This one is a little too tight so I'll save it for a few pounds from now. I feel like it's kind of Jersey housewife, so let me know if you don't like it. Be honest!
I had my hair highlighted between the two shopping outings. Now I just need a haircut.
When I get the dress I bought I'll try it on. I like it, but I'm not in love with it like I was in love with Shaun Cassidy in kindergarten. So we'll see...
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