Well, gals, I’ve made a recent discovery.

I’m a size four.  No shit.  Julie Maloney is a size four.

Back when I was in high school in the 90′s, I don’t think a four existed.  I’m pretty sure it couldn’t have because we had a store called “5-7-9″ and I weighed 120 pounds and *think* I was a size six, so I couldn’t shop at that store.

Looking back, I remember thinking I was fat.  I think that no matter what our size, we think we’re fat because we’re supposed to.  It’s like it’s a built in reminder to find flaws in ourselves.

I wish I could go back in time and slap myself across the face.

I know I couldn’t REALLY have thought I was “fat”, because I dressed like Kelly Bundy and had smokin’ hot hair, but in my mind I remember thinking I wasn’t good enough.

I know we didn’t have this size four shit though.

So now I’m 33.  Just recently turned, I decided I’d get out of my yoga pants and put on some jeans last week and I slipped on my size eight jeans that usually feel pretty good (but I’ve had to do the occasional “lie on the bed, suck in the stomach” routine).

This time, they fell off me.

Everyone knows I was sick.  I’m so SICK of being sick.  Well, I’m over it.  Yes, I still have to have an operation but I’m in such a good mood lately from finally getting my estrogen and bipolar meds balanced that I just don’t want to DEAL with anything negative right now, pain or no.

I must say, this size four didn’t come from healthy eating and exercise, although I do use my Wii Fit Plus to do some yoga moves to stretch out my muscles to relieve stress.  When I was recovering from the teeny tiny nothing to worry about seizure I had, I spent six days on a liquid diet.  I can’t imagine how tiny I would have been had I had the operation and a full four weeks of no solids because in just that short amount of time, my stomach shrank.  I now have no appetite whatsoever.

I don’t think I look any different and I don’t really see people too much to hear otherwise, but I have noticed my sweatpants falling down lately.  It seems I live in yoga and sweatpants, but such is the life of a stay at home mom.  Anyway, I’ve actually been rolling my pants at the top to keep them up but I didn’t think much of it since I didn’t see any change in myself.

Until today.

The only complaint I have about this  estrogen is that for some reason, I’m breaking out like crazy.  To combat that, I’ve been trying to soak up the sun by playing with my kids outside and get me a healthy tan.  Today, I had some free time and put on my bikini for an actual layout and when I looked up from my towel in my yard, I actually saw my hip bones.

I didn’t know I had hip bones.

Ever since last weekend when my size eights fell off and I put on a loose size six, I’ve been telling people how skinny I am and how I’m kind of freaked out.  I’m happy to be skinny, scared I’ll get fat again and nervous because it didn’t happen under my control.  I don’t own any size fours, but I tried some on at the store and they fit.  I don’t want to buy them because I don’t trust myself to stay this skinny but I was REALLY happy when I put my bikini on and didn’t see the overflow I’m used to in the belly area.

All super excited and proud of myself, I went walking in my house only to notice my thighs in the reflection.

WTF?  Cellulite?!  No.  No way.  I’m skinny.  I’m effin’ skinny!

Total bullshit, people.  Total bullshit.  Apparently, it doesn’t matter how thin you get, if you’ve got it, you’ve got it.  I don’t know a damn thing about cellulite and I’d love if you’d leave me a comment if you know how I can make it go away but thoughout this journey of weight loss I’ve taken, I’ve found myself still self-conscious of my body because of this one stupid thing.  I actually don’t want to walk in front of anyone because I have no idea what they’ll see when I walk by.

My point, because I know I’m rambling (I’m typing during the NFL draft so I’m distracted), is that no matter how you look, you’re always going to find a flaw and feel you need to fix it.  There are always going to be flaws.  Yes, I’m skinny and I’m happy as hell about it but now I’m freaking out about bad skin and cellulite.  I think what really matters is that I’m happy, and I am.  A lot of my friends have been smacking me when I bitch (because I always do) about my flaws and the one universal message I’m getting is this-

“Screw you girl!  Who gives a shit if you have bad skin and some cellulite!  You’re SKINNY! “

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