Baby Fat, Weight Loss, and Magic Socks

It has taken a couple of years, but I finally got rid of the baby fat. Most of it, anyway. And, OK, it has really taken a couple of decades. All it took was some dire warnings from my doctor, diet, exercise and a non-functioning thyroid. The thyroid has been non-functioning for a long time and I have dutifully been taking my thyroid hormone pills for years. What happened this year was the combination of losing weight and not eating within 3 hours of bedtime sent my thyroid hormone levels into the “overmedicated zone.” Now, with my body functions set on high speed, my blood pressure went up, I was beset with anxiety, and weight began to melt off me. This went on for 6 months as the doctor and I tried to reduce my dose of medication enough to match my weight loss and return my body to a “normal” state. The result was a total loss of between 30 and 35 pounds; which included a lot of my hair falling out, a lovely side effect of thyroid issues that I have experienced several times over the years.

Thankfully, things seemed to have balanced out, I am at a steady weight for a couple of months now, and my hair is slowly coming back. My blood pressure is great, no more meds for that. Still dealing with anxiety issues, but hopefully, that will fade away also.

So, finally, I can deal with the actual “fun” stuff associated with weight loss. Every week I have been looking at another drawer or armful of clothes, selling some of the few higher end things, and donating lots of stuff to Goodwill. Now that the cooler weather is here, I am still surprised when I pull a blazer or pair of pants out of the closet and realize they are huge on me. It has been hard to part with some of my favorites. 

Emptying out the undies drawer was an adventure. Let’s just say, for most of my adult life my bras have occupied a lot of real estate in the dresser. Their cup sizes represented letters not usually mentioned when one thinks of bra sizes. The straps of these bras were as thick and sturdy as some women’s belts, and many of them contained areas of gel padding and extra rows of hooks.  Out they went. Don’t misunderstand, their replacements still come from the “full figure” category, but no longer from the “available only online” area. Even my leggings, once stretched within millimeters of decency, now resemble skinny pants, and some can no longer be worn.  All this is to be expected when one goes down 2-4 sizes in clothes.

However, something strange is going on with my footwear. Several pairs of shoes are now flopping around on my feet. My actual shoe size hasn’t changed, so did my extra weight just stretch these shoes out somehow? I never noticed my feet actually being swollen or anything. And seriously, these are my FAVORITE shoes, and you just don’t get rid of favorite shoes. I’ve begun investing in heel pads and other such shoe accessories to try and keep them on my feet.

It is possible that the shoe problem is related somehow to what I have now recognized as my magic socks.  I work in an office; so having around 6 or 7 identical pairs of black trouser socks is a requirement. When they start wearing out around the toes I just replace them with another couple of pairs of the same socks. Recently, these socks have been performing tricks on me. As I am walking around the office, these socks start to move around. I can feel them sliding down my ankles into my shoes where they start to bunch up at the arch of my foot. When I look down at my feet, it looks like I am trying to smuggle tiny shar-peis in my shoes. If I don’t stop to pull them back up, my heels are soon bare and cold. Maybe you think I have stretched out these socks with my previously huge feet. However, that is not the case. They still have their shape and elasticity.  If I didn’t have my shoes on I think they would just keep sliding down until they fell off my feet completely.

The only logical conclusion is that after sticking with me through the past months of doctor visits, medication adjustments, test after test and sleepless nights, my socks have taken it upon themselves to give me some humor therapy. They must think this sliding off my feet bit is hilarious; the footwear equivalent of a whoopee cushion. Who knows what other items of clothing might join in on this? Already I have a couple of pairs of pants that keep trying to fall down if I don’t remember to belt them, and some shirts and dresses whose necklines keep trying to plunge to belly button level.

Ho Ho, Ha Ha, wardrobe, you got me! Now stop clowning around!