On Friday I wrote about how I am blaming Blogger for the number of unzippable things in my closet. Fortunately, the nice people at Kellogs have got my back(side).

I must have seen this ad a dozen times over the weekend (okay, YES, I was watching a LOT of TLC–I was hoping that Clinton and Stacey might have some good suggestions for camouflaging my ass. No luck). And I learned that if I eat Special K twice a day for the next two weeks, I will lose six pounds! Isn’t that fantastic?

You know how this works, don’t you? The fat cells die of boredom. Seriously–Special K TWICE a day? I love cereal, I would eat cereal for every meal if I could get away with it (in fact, before I met Wade, I did eat cereal three times a day! or more!) but not Special K. Maybe some Coco Puffs or Cap’n Crunch. Which may explain the problem I am having now with those zippers.

The thing is this: for most of my adult life, I was a size that I was happy with (no, I’m not going to tell you the size, that’s not the point). After I had Henry I spent a long time wearing a bigger size; about twenty minutes after I was easily able to slip back into my pre-Henry jeans, I got pregnant with Charlie. And after Charlie, I wore the biggest size I’ve ever worn (nope, still not telling).

The two and a half years after Charlie was born were incredibly stressful, for a lot of reasons. Usually it’s hard for me to see, in the moment, just how stressed I am; it is only looking back that I can say, wow, that was really difficult. But in that particular window of my life, I felt overwhelmed all the time. And, without realizing it, I lost a lot of weight.

Two years ago, we were planning a trip to Florida to visit my brother and his family. When I got my summer clothes out, nothing really fit, so I went shopping. The jeans I was wearing were one size smaller than my original pre-baby size, so I tried some things on in that slightly smaller size. Too big. I bought some pants in the next size down, without trying them on. They were also too big. So I exchanged them for the NEXT size down. And wore them with a belt.

I don’t know how it happened, how I went from a size I was good with to three sizes smaller and needing a belt. I mean, I know how it happened–it was stress–but I don’t know how it happened. Did I just not eat for a year and a half? I have no idea.

Anyway, about this same time, I decided that I was tired of looking like I just rolled out of bed every day, and I started to shop for some nice wardrobe pieces–things I could wear during my day with the kids that were not made of sweatshirt material. And yes, it was nice to see that very small number in the waistband of these very nice clothes. But honestly, I didn’t really feel any smaller or thinner. I just felt stressed out and overwhelmed. And nicely dressed.

In the past year, a lot of things have happened to alleviate at least some of my stress. Charlie isn’t a baby any more, which is a huge relief to me; we have learned a lot about Henry and how his brain works, which is also a huge relief. Other things have changed, too, that I’m not really at liberty to talk about here; let’s just say that I no longer wake up every single morning and three times at night feeling overwhelmed by my life. All of that is good.

But the down side is this: I have gained back some–like perhaps ten pounds–of the weight that I lost in that crazy period. And while I am genuinely relieved not to feel like I am walking on the thin edge of a razor any more, I am sad about the weight. Not so much because I have a closet full of terrific clothes that I can’t wear, although that does annoy me every time I try to get dressed, but because I feel very uncomfortable in my body, and I don’t like that feeling.

I am still a smaller size than the one I was before I had Henry (no, still not telling you what size that was). I am about two sizes bigger than I was when I had to belt the smallest pants. But I feel like there is a lot of extra to me just now. I feel like I am big and squishy. And I don’t like that feeling.

When we were in Florida, two years ago, my sister-in-law said something about how thin I was, and I remember saying, ‘Yes, but the funny part is, I don’t feel any smaller. I feel like I’m the same size I was the day before Charlie was born. Or the week before I got pregnant with Henry.’ And that was true, then. But now I feel bigger. I am conscious that I used to be smaller, and now I’m not.

I don’t know that losing five (or ten) pounds is really the answer. I don’t know that losing ten (or five) pounds is healthy. I don’t know that losing five pounds is even possible. What I would really like to lose is this sense that my body is not a nice place to be, that there is too much of me. I spend a lot of time thinking about what to wear each day because so much of what’s in my closet doesn’t zip. Or if it does, it’s not comfortable to sit in. Or it just looks bad.

I don’ t think this is all about the number on the scale or the pants that I can’t zip. I think it has a lot to do with not really knowing who I am any more. Wade has been joking about how I am counting the days until school starts next fall, when both boys will go all day every day and I will get my life back. And I’m wondering if some of this anxiety about the size of my body is really anxiety about my life. I don’t know.

For now, I will just blame Blogger.